Addicted to Love
by ladycobert
Summary: Modern day AU: Martha and Isidore Levinson, eminent American sex therapists, decide to give their daughter, her husband, and her sexually prudish (in their opinion) in-laws free therapy sessions as a gift for their third Christmas together.
1. You see the signs

Cora stared down into her mother's carry-on, wide-eyed. "Mother! What on earth are you doing with all these in your hand-luggage?"

Shrugging, Martha simply continued to hang her clothes in the closet of one of Downton's most comfortable guest rooms. "I couldn't trust the airline not to lose my suitcases. Clothes I can easily replace – and who wouldn't want an excuse for a shopping spree in London? But those…." She shook her head.

Her daughter lifted one of the slender purple boxes out of the bag and began to giggle. "Why do you even have them? There must be at least five in here!"

"Gifts, Cora! It's Christmas! I couldn't be certain that you and Rosamund had a decent adult store around here." She had stopped slipping dresses onto hangers and stared at Cora as if this should be obvious.

Unable to stop giggling, Cora dropped the box back into the carry-on. "Mother, there _are_ adult stores in England. But, I would have paid good money to see the TSA agent who scanned your bag."

Martha beckoned her over to help her unpack her suitcases and laughed. "It's better than that. He insisted on opening it. You'd have thought he'd never seen a vibrator before in his life." She rolled her eyes and opened a bureau drawer, transferring nightgowns into it. "I had to give him my card to get him to let me go. I think his eyebrows might be permanently stuck half-way up his forehead now. He'll be able to get a job as a Muppet. Of course, your father was highly amused by the whole incident. He is just lucky that they didn't open _his_ carry-on."

"Why?" Cora paused in unfolding a silk blouse, not sure she actually wanted to know the answer.

"He had the sex books in his."

Cora groaned dramatically. "Bloody hell, Mother, you two are going to completely mortify me in front of Robert's family, aren't you?"

Martha stepped closer to her daughter and took her chin between her thumb and fingers. She grinned. "Of course we are, Cora. That's what parents are for." Winking, she released Cora's chin and moved to put her toiletry bag in the bathroom. "And what's with the 'bloody hell' business?" She called from the guest bath. "Every time I talk to you, you've picked up another English phrase."

"What did you expect, Momma? I _live_ in England. You know, surrounded by English people?"

Reappearing, Martha unzipped one of her husband's suitcases and pulled out shirts, shaking out the wrinkles. "What? Don't English people let loose with a 'fuck' now and then? You haven't said that in ages."

"Not in this house," Cora muttered. She watched her mother unpack several sweater vests and sport coats. "Daddy did bring a good suit, didn't he? Dining here is quite a lot more formal than it is at home."

"Of course he did, Cora." She rolled her eyes again. "You reminded the two of us at least ten times."

Cora sank down onto the bed next to her mother's suitcase. "I'm sorry, Momma. I've already got so many strikes against me, especially with Violet. Things are very strained between us. Even more than usual."

Dropping a pair of trousers back into the suitcase, Martha stood in front of her daughter in concern. "Cora, what's going on?"

Shaking her head, Cora put on a smile. "It's nothing. I – I don't want to talk about it."

Martha's eyebrow rose, but she didn't press her daughter for more. She would find out eventually. Instead, she went back to unpacking. "So, what was so important to Patrick and Robert that they had to drag your father out as soon as we walked in the door?"

"Papa said he was running out of pipe tobacco and wanted to take Daddy with them to the shop so he could be sure to get his favorite cigars. You know how much Robert's father has been looking forward to your visit for the holidays." Cora plucked at one of her mother's dresses and smiled. Then she stood and began putting garments away once more. "He said three years was too long between visits, and he missed his 'mate Issi'."

"Well, I always did like Patrick." Martha chuckled. "And Empress Violet? Where is she this afternoon?"

"Mother, _please_ don't call her that. And she's most likely supervising the maid preparing the guest room for Rosamund and Marmaduke."

"You mean bullying?"

"No, I mean supervising. She's not a bully."

"She's not? She could have fooled me."

Cora sighed and fixed her eyes on her mother. "You and Daddy will be here for almost two weeks. I wish you would _try_ to get along with Violet."

"Do you think I'll get the same consideration from her?" At her daughter's expression of entreaty, Martha huffed. "Fine. I'll _try_ to get along with her." She patted Cora's cheek and smiled. "For you."

"Thank you, Momma." She returned the smile and closed Martha's now empty suitcase. "What else is there to unpack? Did you bring a dress bag?" Cora glanced around her.

Martha inclined her head toward the closet. "Already hanging up. But you could take the dresses out if you like. Help me figure out what to wear to dinner? I don't want to scare your brother-in-law, since he's never met us. You said they'd arrive in time to change for dinner, right?"

Nodding, Cora extricated the dress bag from where it had gotten pushed to the back of the closet. "You didn't bring all plunging necklines, did you, Momma?"

"Don't make me keep rolling my eyes at you, Cora Catherine. I know what's what."

Cora slowly hung up the selection of dresses, eyeing them carefully. "I think this one for tonight." She held up a long-sleeved, purple dress with a modest neckline.

"Understated elegance." Martha chuckled. "Yes, that's my daughter alright."

"It's appropriate. Did you bring your green dress? That would be a nice one for Christmas Eve."

"Yes. I know it's your favorite." She remembered something. "Damn it. I forgot the necklace that goes with that dress."

Smiling, Cora closed her mother's half of the closet and held out her hands for some of her father's things to hang. "I have one that will be perfect. You can borrow it."

"Now, are there any three days before Christmas English traditions or family traditions I need to know about? So I don't inadvertently step my foot in and make fun of them?" Martha handed Cora an armful of shirts and turned back to fold Isidore's underwear and place them neatly in a drawer.

Cora laughed. "No. You have nothing to worry about there. Just concentrate on not embarrassing us all with your outspoken ideas about sex at the dinner table."

Martha shrugged. "Can I help it I make a living talking with people about sex? It's difficult to turn on and off, Cora. But I'll make the attempt."

"Daddy doesn't seem to have any trouble with not making inappropriate comments at the dinner table," Cora muttered under her breath.

"I heard that."

* * *

"Don't worry, Marmaduke. We got your favorite cigars too." Robert clapped his brother-in-law on the back as he entered the drawing room before dinner.

"Well, that's a relief then." He chuckled. "They're not down yet?"

Robert shook his head and sipped at his Scotch. "They should be at any minute though. Cora wanted to give them a once over before she allowed them to join us. She's ridiculously nervous about their being here. Especially her mother."

Chuckling again, Marmaduke said, "But I've heard all about them. I'm looking forward to meeting them, actually. Should be high entertainment if you ask me."

"As long as Mama behaves."

"Oh no, Robert. I think it will be more entertaining if she doesn't." He winked.

"Marmaduke, you're trying to make our life hell, aren't you?"

"Isn't that what holidays are for?"

Just then the Levinsons entered, and Marmaduke stepped closer, waiting to be introduced to Cora's parents.

"And this is Marmaduke Painswick." Cora presented him to her parents, smiling as they shook hands. "This is Martha Levinson, my mother, and Isidore Levinson, my father."

Isidore grinned at Marmaduke. "You can call me 'Issi' if you like."

"Certainly, Issi. What are you drinking, Martha, Issi?"

"Scotch, please," Martha said. Getting a nod from Isidore to make his a Scotch as well, Martha followed Marmaduke over to the liquor cabinet. "'Marmaduke' is quite a formal name, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is." He handed her a drink and prepared Isidore's.

"Don't you have a nickname?"

Marmaduke shook his head. "Not really. Unless you count Rosamund calling me 'devil.'" He grinned and laughed.

"Do you deserve such a nickname?" Martha trailed after him as he delivered Isidore's drink.

"Oh yes. I tease her mercilessly."

Martha smiled widely at him. "I'm sure she enjoys it."

"Thus the nickname. She says it in all affection, I assure you," Marmaduke explained, picking up his own Scotch and having a sip.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that, Marmaduke." Martha held up her glass, her eyes sparkling mischievously as he clinked his glass to hers.

After a while, the butler announced dinner, and Violet led everyone into the dining room. True to her word, Martha endeavored not to say anything embarrassing or to irritate Robert's mother.

Which meant she was largely silent.

She utilized the opportunity to study her dinner companions. Despite Cora's belief that she wasn't very perceptive, Martha had finely honed discernment skills. Their practice wouldn't have made enough for their daughter to buy her place in the Crawley family if they didn't have strong powers of observation.

It didn't take very long for Martha to sense something in the room. The tension was subtle, yet palpable to her. A dynamic – in fact, multiple dynamics – had changed in the family she'd met three years before.

Violet, as before, had an imposing, formidable presence. But the way she glanced at her daughter and Cora gave Martha the impression that Violet felt herself losing some of her control. Her glances to Robert and Marmaduke, as well as the two women, seemed almost angry at times. Then, at intervals, she would glare at Patrick for no reason that Martha could work out. No immediate reason, anyway.

About halfway through the meal, Patrick glimpsed his wife's face and heaved a deep sigh, casting sympathetic looks to all the children and an apologetic one to Martha and Isidore. His demeanor struck Martha as far less jolly than it had been for Cora and Robert's wedding, even though at that time she _knew_ he and Violet had disagreed – rather strongly – about the marriage. What could be worse?

Rosamund tended to be far quieter than her usual self, as Martha remembered her. She looked down at her plate, avoiding her mother's eye, and seemed almost depressed. Marmaduke kept looking over at her, as if making sure she was alright. Then he would redouble his efforts in the conversation, leaving Martha with the belief that he was attempting to cover Rosamund's reserve.

Even though she acknowledged that Robert had on his best behavior – to help his wife with her anxiety over her parents' visit – Martha could see through this to a layer of nerves that had nothing to do with having them as guests. She knew Robert better than the others – although not so well as she would have liked, as he was her daughter's husband – and, as she watched his interactions, with his mother especially, she suspected that something was amiss.

When she moved her attention to Cora, it became clear that her suspicions were true. Her daughter smiled in a pained manner most of the evening, even to Robert. And Cora's expressions of appreciation to her mother for behaving, when she pulled her aside as they all had drinks after dinner, were far more effusive than Martha's good conduct merited.

Something heavy weighed on Cora's mind. And if Martha knew her daughter, she recognized that she wouldn't say a word to her on the subject if she could avoid it. In fact, as Martha recalled their conversation from that afternoon, she realized that Cora had already shunted her inquiries aside once.

Somehow, Martha would have to get her daughter to talk to her.

* * *

"You were very quiet at dinner, Martha. Is something wrong? Or are you just worn out from the flight?" Isidore sat down and took off his shoes, shoving them under the bed.

"Don't put those under the bed, Issi. You and I both know you'll forget they're there, and you'll be moaning about it tomorrow night when you need them again." She bent down and snatched the shoes from under the bed and put them in the closet.

Isidore clasped her wrist as she tried to walk by him. "You didn't answer my question."

"Oh! No, nothing is wrong." She perched upon his lap and slid her arms around his neck. "At least – my quiet was because I was attempting not to mortify our daughter or annoy Empress Violet unnecessarily."

"And…?" He rested his hands on her hips, raising his brows in expectation. Isidore knew when his wife had something to say.

Martha rolled her eyes. "Every person in that room was fucking hiding _something_." She grinned at him. "Except us. Well, I hope not anyway. Are you?"

Isidore smirked at his wife. "Not a thing, my dear." He pressed his lips to hers.

After she deepened the kiss, Martha brought one hand around to cup his face. Breaking the kiss to catch her breath, she smiled. "Gin and cigars."

"I can go brush my teeth if it's too strong for you."

A low chuckle escaped Martha's throat. "No, it's fine." Her smile faltered a moment.

"Martha?" He slipped his hands to the small of her back, pulling her closer. "Are you sure you're alright? If you're tired –"

She shook her head emphatically. "No, it's not that. Just –" Her eyes fastened to his. "Will you do me a favor and watch Cora and Robert tomorrow? I think I see something, but I need your opinion before I say something to her."

"Of course I will." His brows drew together. "Anything in particular I should look for?"

"I don't want to direct you toward something specific. I want your professional observations, unadulterated."

Isidore's eyebrows climbed. "Professional? Or fatherly?"

"I suppose both would be useful, actually."

"You've got me worried, Martha." He shifted her a bit, as his leg had started to fall asleep.

"I don't think it's anything too troubling. I just think I'm picking up something, and I want to be sure I'm not seeing things that aren't there." Her fingers brushed over his cheek.

"Well, that's definitely prudent. You don't want to say something worrying to our daughter if there's nothing to be concerned about."

"Good. Now we've got that settled…. Where were we?" Martha ran her fingernails along the nape of his neck and grinned wickedly.

"I think we were about to go downstairs and invite everyone for a hand of poker –"

Isidore made as if to stand, and Martha punched him on the arm. "Isidore Levinson, I swear sometimes you drive me –"

His lips converging upon hers effectively silenced her. Leaning them both back upon the bed, Isidore reached one hand over to switch off the light.

* * *

_A/N: The inspiration for this fic came from a tumblr anon who wrote to me saying, "So I love many things about your fan fiction, but one of my favorites is that one could group together "Open Your Eyes" and "Just Be" under the title "How the Levinsons Introduced Oral Sex to the Crawleys" or something of the sort." One idea lead to another in my brain, and voila - here we have chapter one of my modern day AU. Also, I've never done a modern day AU before, so do tell me if it's working!_


	2. You're gonna have to face it

Cora jerked awake at the beeping of the alarm.

"Sorry," Robert mumbled into her hair before reaching back to slap the "off" button with his palm. "I forgot to turn it off last night." He nestled himself once more against her back, tightening his arms around her waist.

"It's okay, Robert. We probably shouldn't lie abed very late anyway," she said, but she made no move to get up, too comfortable within the circle of his embrace.

Soon she felt Robert nuzzling into her neck. "Mmmm, you smell wonderful. And different; what is it?"

Yawning, Cora slipped her arms down to cover his. "I used some of Momma's perfume last night, since I'm out of my favorite. She wanted me to see if I liked this. I'm hoping _someone_ got me more of my perfume for Christmas though."

"Perhaps someone will get you some of this too. You smell luscious." Robert swept her hair away from her shoulders and started placing kisses above the fabric of her nightgown.

"And you still smell like cigars. Why didn't you shower before coming to bed? You know I hate when you smell like that."

"You have a problem with our male bonding?" he murmured lazily as he continued running his lips along her skin.

"No, I have a problem with our sheets stinking." She wriggled her shoulders. "I'm going to take a shower."

Robert clung to her. "No, don't get up yet," he whispered, resting his forehead on her back. "We can make up for last night."

Cora pried his arms from around her. "Maybe tonight, Robert. I don't want us to be late for breakfast, not with my parents here, and we both have to shower." She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching her arms up with another yawn.

Extending an arm over the spot where she'd just been lying beside him, he touched the small of her back. "We could shower together," he suggested, his voice hopeful.

She turned to look at him. "It'll be quicker if we don't." Standing, she shrugged and shook her head at him. "Perhaps tonight you'll come upstairs before I fall asleep. But right now I have to consider my parents."

Robert stared at her. Her tone was calm, but her words made him feel ashamed. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't realize how late Marmaduke and I were up talking."

"You're not in trouble, Robert. You did nothing wrong. I'm just in no mood for that this morning. Do you understand?" Her eyes were soft.

"I do." He nodded and sighed.

"Put the long face away, darling. We're fine." Leaning forward, she caressed his cheek and gave him a brief kiss before smiling at him and disappearing into the bathroom.

When he heard the shower running, Robert rolled onto his back and passed his hand over his forehead with another sigh. They weren't fine; lately things between them had been tense. He wasn't sure why, specifically, so he didn't know how to make it better. In the meantime, however, he felt keenly how she seemed to keep him at arm's length.

And he hated it.

* * *

Marmaduke tapped his knuckles upon the door of their room. When he heard no answer, he entered quietly. Rosamund had declined to come down to breakfast, pleading a headache. Now she perched upon the window seat, ostensibly reading a book. But the volume rested upon her crossed legs while she stared out the window, one hand on a page, the other coiling and uncoiling one of her red curls around her fingers absent-mindedly.

"Rosamund?" he approached her hesitantly. "Are you feeling better?"

Shaking herself slightly, Rosamund released the curl and looked up at him with a tiny smile. "Yes, the headache is gone."

He took her hand and sat in front of her on the window seat, his brow furrowed. "Are you hungry? Can I get someone to bring you anything?"

"Stop fussing, Marmaduke. I'm perfectly capable of getting something for myself if I need it." She regretted her somewhat severe tone as soon as she saw his reaction. So she tightened her fingers around his hand and smiled again. "But thank you."

Grazing the pads of his fingers over her cheek, he nodded. Then he sighed deeply, averting his eyes. "Darling, we have to talk about this some time. I need to, and I know you need to. And we need to tell the others."

"No. Not yet. I can't talk about it yet. Not even with you. Please, please, can we just drop it for now? I'd like to enjoy Christmas."

Marmaduke couldn't stand the pain in her voice. He knew they needed to talk – to really talk to one another – but he also didn't want to pressure her into speaking about it before she was ready. So much had changed in their lives, though, he was afraid that it would rip them apart if they didn't address it. And soon.

It was this fear that made him fasten his eyes on hers. "But I know you won't enjoy Christmas with this weighing on you – on us. Just consider that." He waited for her to nod once, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

Watching him stand and walk toward the closet, Rosamund drew her brows together. "What are you doing?"

Pulling his coat and scarf out of the closet and wrapping the scarf around his neck, he looked over at her. "We're walking into town. Your brother and father, Isidore and I. _Someone_ – I name no names – still has shopping to do."

Rosamund rolled her eyes. "Robert, more than likely. Papa has Mama do all the shopping for Christmas, and Isidore strikes me as the type who gets everything done in October. I'd peg Martha as more likely to be scrambling to get 'a few more things' for everyone the week of Christmas."

He chuckled and shrugged his coat onto his shoulders. Then he walked back to the window seat, putting a hand on her shoulder and gazing down into her face, his expression more serious. "Is it alright that I go? You'll be okay?"

"You – you won't tell them, will you?" Her voice trembled.

"Not before you're ready, darling. Even if I think we should sooner rather than later."

"I know." She reached up and straightened his scarf. "Now, off with you."

Marmaduke cupped her chin. "You won't sit in here all day, will you?"

She gave a little shake of her head. "No, I'll go down in a little while." A slight smile crossed her lips. "I would be very selfish indeed to leave Martha and Mama both to Cora by herself."

"I'm not worried about you being selfish, Rosamund. I'm worried about you not at least trying to get some amusement out of Martha and Isidore's visit, to enjoy the holiday." Running his thumb over her jawline, he said softly, "So promise me you won't stay up here all alone?"

"I promise."

He left her with a tender kiss, hoping she'd deliver on her promise, hoping that time in the company of Cora and Martha – if not her mother – would brighten her spirits a bit.

* * *

"I have an idea," Martha announced suddenly. She'd been staring at three silent women for over ten minutes as they sipped coffee or tea after lunch, all of them avoiding the others' eyes. Now, all eyes met hers. She turned to Cora. "Do you remember how we used to make Christmas cookies, Cora? All of us?"

Cora grinned at the memory. "Harold and I would end up throwing flour at one another while you screeched at us to stop and Daddy sneaked more flour to us."

"Well, I thought that the cook wouldn't really need the kitchen right now, as lunch is over, yes? So let's go down there while the menfolk are out and make some. As a surprise for them. What do you think?" Martha glanced around at them hopefully.

"They _were_ very good cookies. I didn't have anything planned for the afternoon besides finishing wrapping some gifts. But that can wait." Cora smiled at Rosamund. "Will you come with us?"

Rosamund hesitated, then, remembering her promise to her husband, shrugged. "Why not?"

"What about you, Violet?" Martha grinned at her.

"It sounds ridiculous," Violet snorted.

"'Bah, humbug,' to you too, Scrooge," Rosamund replied, putting down her tea cup and standing. "It's Christmas time, Mama. We can all use a bit of the ridiculous."

"It would be different if there were small children in the house for the holiday," Violet threw back.

Martha pursed her lips together and narrowed her eyes when she saw that both Cora and Rosamund looked as if Violet had struck them. Cora's mouth opened as she stared at her mother-in-law. Rosamund lowered her eyes to the table in front of her, her cheeks flushed. For several moments no one spoke, and it amazed Martha that Violet appeared unrepentant for her pointed remark.

Finally, Martha rose from the table and fixed Violet with a cold stare. "Well, there are enough people _acting_ like children in this house anyway. Come along, girls. I still want to make the cookies. Isidore loves them even more than the children ever did." Martha waited until Cora and Rosamund had slipped past her and out the door toward the kitchen before shaking her head at Violet and following them.

She had realized at least one element to the strange dynamic she'd noticed the evening before.

* * *

Robert felt a tug on the elbow of his coat sleeve. "Hmm?" he grunted, not taking his eyes from the train sets and dolls in the shop window.

"I asked you if you'd gotten everything you needed," Isidore repeated, wondering at his son-in-law's sudden reverie.

"Oh, right," Robert muttered, tearing his eyes from the toys. He thought a moment, going over his list in his head, making mental check marks by the items he'd already gotten. Then he grinned. "Do you know what perfume Martha gave Cora to borrow last night? I wanted to get some for Cora. Although I already bought her favorite for her."

"Yes, I did happen to be in the room when Cora asked to borrow something." He smiled and gave Robert the name of it. "I hope you can find it here. If not, you can always order it from somewhere like London and tell her it's on the way."

"Well, that's not quite as fun as seeing her open it on Christmas day, is it?"

"No, it's not; I'll grant you that." Isidore looked down the street, then pointed to another shop. "Might that store carry perfumes?"

Robert nodded. "Yes, we can try there, Isidore." He glanced at his watch. "We still have time before we're to meet Papa and Marmaduke in the square."

As they began walking together, Isidore drew his brows together, remembering Robert's longing expression from earlier. "Robert? Is anything the matter? I mean, with you and Cora?" He'd been watching his son-in-law carefully all day, and, he had to admit, Martha had a point about there being something off.

Averting his eyes, Robert tightened his grip around the handles of the bags he carried and shook his head. "No, of course not. Why would anything be the matter?"

"That would be for you to tell _me_." Isidore cleared his throat. "But perhaps it's something you'd rather not share."

Robert looked at Isidore and shook his head again. "There's nothing to share."

The older man could sense sadness in the younger man's voice. But he simply nodded. "Well, if you ever need to talk…." He left it at that, holding the door to the shop open for him.

"Thanks, Isidore." Robert went into the shop, turning his mind toward finding the perfume for Cora.

* * *

"God, Martha, what happened earlier today? I've never seen this family so tense at dinner! And that's saying something." Isidore hung up his suit coat and started loosening his tie.

Martha, who had already gotten into bed, having come up long before he did, put her book aside and said, "What did I tell you? _Something_ – or to be completely accurate, most likely quite a few somethings…. Anyway, there are things going on here, Issi. And I think it's causing a lot of pain."

Isidore sat to pull off his shoes and socks, shoving them beneath the chair before attacking his shirt buttons. "I agree, Martha. But something had to have happened today too – with the four of you."

"Come to bed, and I'll tell you about it." She turned out her bedside lamp and smiled at him, watching him get undressed.

After he'd finished undressing, Isidore slipped under the covers in his boxers and nestled up to Martha, dropping a kiss upon her shoulder. Turning into his embrace, Martha wrapped her arms around his waist and proceeded to tell him what had gone on that day. Isidore reciprocated with what he'd discerned from Robert.

"What do you think, Issi?" she asked, her expression filled with concern.

Isidore lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Martha's ear. "I think they need our help. Even if they don't realize it."

She nodded. "I agree. But how do we get _them_ to?"

"We'll think of something, my dear. In the meantime, I am still wide awake, and I missed my wife today."

Martha smirked at him. "I wonder what that could mean," she said, her voice dripping sarcasm.

Grinning, he moved his hand down to pat her behind.

Chuckling, she pulled him even closer to her. "Yes, we'll think of something. Later." As Isidore ran his fingers along her thigh, dragging her nightgown up with them, Martha whispered, "Did you enjoy the cookies, Issi?"

Pausing a moment, Isidore drew back to look into her eyes. "Oh yes. I always enjoy _your_ cookies."

Martha laughed while Isidore bent his head to kiss her neck, his mustache tickling her throat in a most agreeable manner.

* * *

When Patrick entered the bedroom, he saw Violet already curled up on the bed. Her soft breathing made him smile. He moved about the room as quietly as he could, undressing and putting on his pajamas. Going over to her side of the bed, he switched off Violet's bedside lamp as he bent down and kissed her cheek.

"Patrick?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's quite late, darling. Go back to sleep." He brushed a hand through her hair, smiling at her.

Violet looked up at him. "Did all of you stay up late?"

He shook his head and sat next to her. "No, Robert and Marmaduke went up hours ago. Isidore and I were the ones who stayed in the library talking late."

"What were you talking about?"

"Oh, just what has happened in the past few years since we'd seen one another. That sort of thing."

Taking his hand in hers, Violet lowered her lashes. "Might I ask you something, Patrick?"

Her suddenly serious tone took him by surprise. He pressed her hand. "Certainly, Violet. What is it?"

She lifted her eyes to meet his. "Are you bored with me?"

"My dear, where is this coming from?" he inquired, his eyebrows raised.

Violet sighed as she lowered her eyes again, her face flushing slightly.

"I see. It's because of Martha and Isidore being here, isn't it?" He cupped her cheek when she nodded, obviously regretting asking the question already. "Violet, look at me please." Once she had done so, he said, "Of course I'm not bored. I love you very much, and you are many things, but you've never been boring. Not to me." Grinning, he leaned down to kiss her on the mouth, a long, lingering kiss.

"I'm glad, Patrick," she replied with a smile once he'd ended the kiss.

"Let's get some sleep, darling, okay?"

Feeling a stab of disappointment, Violet nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course."

Patrick caressed her face once more before standing and moving around the bed to his side. Turning out the light, he climbed in beside her and got comfortable. "Goodnight, Violet."

"Goodnight, Patrick," she breathed, her brief elation at his response to her question having given way to a knot of fear in her stomach.


	3. You're running at a different speed

Isidore entered the bedroom and began chuckling at the sight that met him. Martha stood at the side of the bed with a block of neon pink post-it notes and a pen, and she'd made little piles of gifts on the comforter. A roll of Christmas paper, a spool of ribbon, and some tape waited at the head of the bed for when she might be ready for actual wrapping.

"Issi!" Martha squawked, hastily throwing a scarf over one of the piles. "My gift for you isn't wrapped yet."

"I didn't see anything." He laughed and came over to stand next to her, putting his hands in his sport coat pockets. Kissing her cheek, he shook his head, his eyes crinkled up with mirth. "You are the only woman I know who strategizes in quite this manner when it comes to gift-giving."

"That's not true. Cora does it as well."

"Something she learned from her mother."

"Hey, it works, okay?"

"I can see what you've got for everyone else, can't I?" Isidore grinned wider.

"Well, you know most of it. I'm just putting little extras with everyone's main gift."

He scanned the piles quickly, then pointed to one that had an expensive, button-up, lavender silk blouse as part of the bundle. "Wait – that one doesn't have a post it on it. But isn't that what we'd picked out for Violet?"

Martha nodded. "Yes. I just haven't gotten to that part of the bed yet with my labeling."

Isidore turned to her with an expression of horror. He plucked a slim purple box and a brightly colored book from the pile. "Martha, nooooo."

"What? God, if anyone of them needs some help, it's Empress Violet." She rolled her eyes.

"Martha, darling, I think that perhaps they aren't the best gifts for Christmas day? At least, for Violet? I know you wrap these things in a discrete manner, so the recipient understands that they might want to wait for a more private place to unwrap that part of their gift. But I don't think Violet would appreciate _those_ particular things at all."

"Which is exactly why she needs them!"

Shaking his head again, Isidore put the two items on one of the pillows. "I think that perhaps you should save these as part of our other gift. Don't you?"

With a dramatic sigh, Martha shrugged. "I suppose so. But I really wanted to see her face when she opened them."

"That's a bit mean-spirited, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I didn't like how she was with Cora and Rosamund yesterday. It rankled me." She scowled.

"Marthaaaa…," he softly admonished as he wrapped his arms about her waist. "It won't help fix anything to annoy her further, will it?"

"No," she admitted. "I'll try to be good, Issi." She heaved a deep sigh, then kissed his cheek. "Speaking of our other gift, did you get the cards?"

Letting her go, he walked over to the table by the door and held up a pack of Christmas cards. "Yep. Cora said she had this one left over from when she sent her cards a few weeks ago."

"Well, that was lucky. It means we don't have to go out and try to secure some on Christmas Eve. Or, you know, use these." She held up the post-it notes and snickered.

"Yes, because _that_ would be the height of class right there." Isidore winked at her. "Now, shall I help with something? I can help wrap or I can go ahead and write these cards out."

"As long as your handwriting is legible, I think you should write out the cards. I'm sure you'll describe the gift with far more tact than I would." She laughed and applied her attention to the piles of gifts once more.

"You're right about that, I'd say." Sitting at the desk, he pulled out a pen and thought for a moment before starting to write.

* * *

Robert examined the new offerings to the heap of gifts under the tree from the other side of the room. Taking a sip of heavily spiked eggnog, he addressed Cora out of the side of his mouth. "How many of those do you think contain sex-related gifts?"

Pinching him, Cora giggled. "Stop that, Robert." She finished her own glass and glanced around. After seeing that everyone else's attention was elsewhere, she murmured, "All of them minus one."

"Minus one?" His eyebrows rose. "Really?" He watched as she stepped away to fill her glass again, then came back and wrapped an arm around one of his. He smiled at her.

"Daddy would never let Momma give anything like that to your mother," she said seriously.

Robert began to laugh uncontrollably.

Then, his laughter infectious, Cora joined him.

"What on earth?" Violet's head snapped toward them. "What is so hilarious, you two?"

"Never mind, Mama. You wouldn't find it funny." He grinned at Cora.

Violet rolled her eyes at them and directed a glance to the glasses in their hands. "Well, might you save some of the eggnog for _after_ dinner? It's a bit unseemly to be drunk this early in the evening."

Patrick looked up from his conversation with Isidore. "Violet, let the young people be. It's Christmas Eve."

Throwing up her hands, Violet turned upon her heel and stalked down the hallway.

Isidore bent his head closer to his friend as Cora pulled Robert into a corner, the pair of them still unable to quit snickering. "Patrick, is Violet always like that?"

"You should know, mate. You remember what she was like when you were here before." Patrick rubbed his forehead with a slight sigh.

"Yes, but then she had the weight of the wedding upon her shoulders. A wedding she didn't agree with. But now…." He looked at Patrick expectantly.

"Issi," he began, lowering his voice, "it's worse than usual lately. I don't know what to do. I'm not even sure what's wrong with her."

Isidore studied his face. "What makes you think there's something wrong with _her_?" he inquired in his therapist voice.

"No, no, mate. Don't get shrinky on me. I'll allow that it's a legitimate question, but it's a bit heavy for Christmas Eve."

"In that case, I prescribe copious amounts of Scotch." His lips turned up in a wide grin as he stood and clapped Patrick on the back. "Stay right there, friend."

Patrick chuckled and leaned back in his chair, casting his eyes about the room while Isidore went into the library for Scotch. Robert and Cora had broken apart, and she had joined Rosamund by the hall fireplace, both of them drinking eggnog like it might disappear before they had their fill. Marmaduke and Robert had ensconced themselves into a corner, each having provided himself with something stronger than eggnog – what looked like Scotch for Robert and gin for Marmaduke. Both pairs appeared deep in conversation, the women's heads bowed together, the men standing very close to one another. Violet had not returned, and Patrick realized that he didn't see Martha anywhere either. Curious, he got up and walked down the hallway, thinking that perhaps she'd gone after his wife.

As he approached the half open library door, however, and heard low chuckles, Patrick knew he was wrong. Peeking around the door frame, he saw confirmation of this. Martha and Isidore stood near the liquor cabinet, embracing one another and chuckling together. Then Isidore bent his head to kiss his wife, his hands slipping down to cover her behind with a squeeze that elicited a low moan from Martha's throat. Patrick blinked rapidly and turned away from the door, his back against the wall, listening to the various noises that met him in the hallway.

After a few moments, he heard Isidore say, "The rest we'll have to defer for later, darling. I have Patrick waiting."

"But, Issi, he can wait a bit longer, can't he?" Martha's voice held a note of disappointment.

Isidore chuckled. "Would you want him to come looking for us?"

Martha's voice turned into a soft purr. "That might be interesting."

A blush crept up Patrick's throat at this, and he knew his eyes must be wide as saucers.

He heard a smack closely followed by a yelp. "You're such a bad girl, Martha. I know you're joking. But I'm surprised you haven't scandalized all the Crawleys already."

A peal of laughter poured out the door. "Just wait. We have well over a week left. I'm taking my time."

"Incorrigible," he muttered.

Patrick could hear sounds of kissing again, and he knew he should make himself scarce. But he also couldn't stop thinking how lovely it would be if he and Violet could be so open with their sexual relationship. In that moment, he truly envied the Levinsons.

"Alright now, Martha, I really do need to be getting back to Patrick. And we shouldn't be absent too long anyway. We don't want to be rude when we're guests here."

Hearing liquid being poured into glasses, Patrick finally withdrew himself back to the great hall and plopped down in his chair, covering his face with his hands. He put a smile on his face and pulled his hands away when Isidore sat across from him once more. Accepting the Scotch, he tipped a plentiful amount down his throat.

"You okay, Patrick?" Isidore's brows came together in concern.

"Yes, I'm just – Violet still hasn't come back." He grasped for something that wouldn't give him away. Although, he realized that he was worried that she hadn't returned.

"Then why not go find her?" He rested his elbows on his knees and held the glass in both hands, leaning forward.

Patrick shrugged. "She won't want to see me," he mumbled, his eyes cast down into his drink.

"And how do you know that? You might be exactly who she wants to see."

Draining his glass, Patrick shook his head. "No, no. I'm the one who upset her."

"Now you're just being stubborn." Holding his hand out for his friend's glass, he raised his brows. "I'll get you another, though. Or perhaps I should just bring back the bottle?"

"Cheers, mate." Patrick nodded at him. "The good stuff, though. It _is_ Christmas."

Isidore patted his shoulder as he stood to fulfill this request. "Certainly."

Running into Martha in the hallway, Isidore stopped her, a hand on her arm. "What's the matter?" she queried, knowing when he was upset about something.

He leaned down to whisper, "The sooner we can get these folks to talk to us, the better."

Martha covered his hand with one of hers. "I know. That's why I know our gift is a good idea."

"An excellent one in fact, darling." He kissed her forehead and left her to go get the "good stuff" from the library.

One thing was certain. The way things were progressing, everyone was going to be well and truly drunk before the end of dinner.

* * *

As it happened, even Violet had had a bit too much by the time the evening wound down after dinner. She'd made clear to everyone how annoyed she was with all of them and kept silent most of the night, drinking to try to drown her ire.

Martha and Cora sat together by the fire, reminiscing about Christmases in New York. Robert, Isidore, and Patrick had removed themselves as far from Violet as possible, drinking their way through several bottles of fine Scotch and smoking – Patrick his pipe and Robert and Isidore their cigars. Violet glared at all of them from a chair across the room. Marmaduke and Rosamund were nestled up on one of the settees, Rosamund nearly asleep.

As it was getting on toward midnight, Rosamund yawned loudly from where her head rested against her husband's shoulder. She tugged on Marmaduke's hand and stood up. "Might we go upstairs? I'm tired, and we have to get up early tomorrow."

Violet's sudden snort caught everyone's attention. "Why do you have to get up early tomorrow? It's not like anyone still believes in Santa Claus and has to scramble to open gifts, do they?"

A collective gasp went up around the library, Violet's words piercing through their various states of inebriation. Rosamund turned to her mother, incensed. Balling up her free hand into a fist at her side, she sent a murderous look Violet's way. "Stop it, Mama, just stop it! We get it! But I can't take your digs anymore!" Snatching her hand from her husband's grasp, she burst into tears and fled from the room.

Giving Violet a hard look, Marmaduke immediately jumped up to go after her.

Violet shook in her chair, rage exuding from her at being shouted at by her daughter. Everyone else stared at her, still struck dumb by her comment. Comprehending that she'd fallen in complete disfavor, Violet muttered, "Right," and got up, leaving the room in haste.

Patrick cleared his throat and downed the almost full glass he held in his hand in one gulp. Isidore took the glass away from him and put the bottle out of his reach.

Robert met his wife's eyes across the room, recognizing the look on her face. "Well, I'm off for the night." He stubbed out his cigar and said goodnight to his papa and father-in-law, leaving his glass on the table next to him. Going over to the fireplace, he took Cora's hand and gave her a small smile. He kissed Martha's cheek and said goodnight, waiting for Cora to do the same. Then he took her upstairs to their room, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

"Come on, Patrick. I'll help you upstairs." Isidore stood and pulled his friend up with him. Patrick was too drunk to protest when Isidore draped his arm over his shoulders. Isidore shared a glance with Martha as he exited with Patrick.

Leaving Patrick at his bedroom door, Isidore went on to his room, leaning back against the door as he shut it.

Martha had already begun to undress, the green dress falling to the floor at her feet. She turned to her husband, her face contorted with confusion. "What the fuck is wrong with Violet, Issi?"

He heaved a deep sigh and rolled his head slowly from side to side against the door. "I don't know, Martha. And I'm even more worried because of Rosamund's reaction. This has been building for a while, if you ask me."

"I won't contradict you, most certainly. Cora's face, though. Did you see it?" She yanked her slip over her head and threw it on top of her dress.

Isidore lifted his head and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I saw it. Moreover, it definitely meant something to Robert. He took one look at her and left us immediately. I want to know what is going on."

Martha exhaled noisily and picked up her things from the floor, depositing them upon a chair as she walked to her husband. "Shots?"

"Tequila or vodka?"

"They have tequila?"

"I saw some of both in the cabinet."

Martha's brow arched upward. "Are we in any state to keep drinking? I really don't want a Christmas day hangover."

Isidore chuckled and grasped her upper arms gently. "It was your suggestion. I'd wager we were the least drunk of the group. Apart from possibly Marmaduke."

"I'm not sure that says much." She gave an answering chuckle. "But I think I still need something to get my mind off this mess we seem to have been dropped into."

"Well, there's always…." Isidore pulled Martha closer and kissed her intensely.

Resting her hands on his chest, Martha let out a groan of longing. Once his lips had left hers to trail down her neck, she murmured, "You did promise me we could continue that, yes. But there's no reason we can't do both."

Isidore raised his eyes to hers and laughed. "If I get too drunk there is."

"Perhaps we should take care of that now? Then we can pick up with shots?" She waggled her brows at him.

"Sounds like the perfect Christmas Eve," he remarked, smirking at her before bending his head to continue where he'd left off.

* * *

Isidore slipped on his bathrobe over his boxers. Bending down, he kissed Martha once more, grinning as he left her tangled up in the sheets, her red hair engagingly mussed. He didn't necessarily want much alcohol at this point, thinking that he'd rather have another go with his wife. But Martha wanted shots – and what Martha wanted, Isidore made it his duty to get. Perhaps after she'd had a few he could persuade her to exchange the drinking for, well, other activities.

Once he'd found the bottle of tequila and two shot glasses in the library, he took the stairs two at a time, humming softly to himself. A light coming from an open door caught his eye, however, and he peered into the room.

"Patrick?"

The man lay across a couch, a blanket over him. His eyes moved to fall upon Isidore. "Yes?"

"Er, what are you doing in here?" Isidore stepped fully into the room, which looked like a private upstairs sitting room, perhaps.

Patrick slid his arms up and under his head, crossing them. "Attempting to sleep even though my head won't stop spinning."

"Have you had any water?"

"No, I really didn't think of that, mate."

"Patrick, um, _why_ are you sleeping in here?"

He gave a bit of a shrug – all he could manage at that point. "Violet told me to get out."

Isidore shook his head sadly. "Might I ask why?"

"I've no idea, Issi. One minute I was trying to get her to talk to me, the next she was shrieking at me to sleep elsewhere."

"God, I'm sorry, Patrick." He glanced behind him to the door, knowing that Martha was waiting on him. "Listen, can I get you something? Some aspirin? And you really should drink some water."

"No, mate. I think I'll just wallow in my misery. It's what Violet wants, I'm sure."

"Don't talk like that. Things will look better in the morning."

"You sound like your daughter, Iss."

Isidore shrugged and smiled. "Where do you think she got it?"

Patrick focused his eyes on Isidore once again. "You're a good man, Isidore. And I'm glad that Cora's part of our family."

"Thanks, Patrick. She's happy to be part of your family too. And I'm grateful that she's got you as a father-in-law. You're a good man too."

Sighing, Patrick nodded. "I wish Violet would remember that."

"You'll remind her. Because she does know it."

"I hope so."

"She does. I'll leave you to try to sleep." He took a few steps toward the door.

"Thanks, mate. Happy Christmas," Patrick said pathetically.

Isidore turned and looked at his friend with sympathy. "Merry Christmas. Goodnight." He left the room, utterly grateful that his own wife waited for him to rejoin her in their bedroom.

* * *

Rubbing a towel over his wet hair, Robert walked out of the bathroom and looked at Cora. She sat on the chaise longue, her feet peeping out from beneath her long night gown, her elbow upon the arm of the chaise, holding her head in her hand and staring into the fire that he'd lit for her once they'd gotten upstairs.

Robert suppressed his sigh and went over to her. He dropped a kiss onto her cheek and gave her a small smile. "All clean, darling." He hadn't wanted her any more upset than she was already, so as soon as he'd lit the fire and made sure she was settled, he'd immediately jumped in the shower to wash away the scent of cigars and pipe tobacco.

She turned her head toward him with a strained smile. "Thank you, Robert."

"Don't thank me, sweetheart." He sat on the edge of the chaise and cupped her cheek, draping the towel around his neck.

Cora lowered her eyes, the smile fading.

"Won't you tell me what's wrong?" he whispered, grazing his thumb over her cheekbone gently.

Sighing, she raised her eyes to his again, shrugging. "It's nothing, really."

"You're a horrible liar, Cora," he murmured, his expression all concern. "Something is bothering you. You can't hide that from me. Please, talk to me?"

She moved her eyes to the fire again. "I'd rather not. It's a silly thing, and I'll manage."

Robert let out his breath in a long exhale. "I still wish you'd tell me. You've been pushing me away, and I don't like it."

"It – it's not your fault, my darling," she choked out, a lump forming in her throat. "Honestly, I'll be fine."

"Will _we_?"

At his words, she met his gaze, tears pricking her eyelids. She put a hand over his where it still caressed her face, and her eyes softened. "Yes, my love. I promise you." A knot of guilt twisted in her stomach, and she leaned forward, kissing him tenderly, regretting her behavior toward him over the past days – the past weeks, really.

Cora reached her hands up to twist into his hair as he began pressing her back against the chaise, his lips travelling along her jawline and to her ear to nibble there. She giggled. "Your hair is still wet."

"It'll dry," he breathed into her ear. This caused her to giggle again with the tickling sensation.

Then he slid a hand down and over the juncture of her thighs, stroking his fingers over her through her night gown. She gasped sharply and began to squirm, closing her eyes. "Robert," she purred against his temple. Flipping the towel across his shoulders to the floor, she scraped her fingernails down over his back and beneath the second towel wrapped loosely about his waist, pressing his behind and delighting in his answering moan.

Cora gasped again when he stood and bent down to lift her from the chaise, kissing her as he brought her over to the bed, the towel dropping to the floor as he set her down with a soft smile. "Cora," he breathed, helping her disrobe and caressing her skin with his fingers and eyes, every touch murmuring an "I love you," without his ever having to say the words.

Once she drew him to her again, her kisses hungry, the rest happened in a haze of desire, firelight dancing upon their bodies, their skin glistening and limbs entwined. Eventually, Robert nuzzled his face into the hollow of her throat, becoming still apart from the pounding of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest as he endeavored to catch his breath. Cora cradled his head in her arms, her lips upon his still damp hair, also breathing heavily.

"Mmmm," he hummed, grazing his fingertips over her shoulders. "Maybe that time we –"

He felt how deep her sigh was. "Don't. Don't say it." Cora began to draw away from him, her voice sad.

"I – where are you going?" He propped himself up on his elbow, watching as she stood up.

Cora stared at him a few seconds before retrieving her night gown and underwear from the floor and disappearing into the bathroom.

Robert's heart dropped into his stomach. "Bloody hell," he muttered. He got up and went to his bureau, taking out underwear and pajama bottoms. Putting these on, he went over to the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair.

Getting back into bed, he straightened out the bedclothes and tucked himself beneath them, waiting for her to return. In a few moments, Cora stepped back into the room, turning out the bathroom light and climbing up into bed beside him.

Turning toward her, he said, "Cora, I'm sorry, I –"

She interrupted him once again, placing her fingers upon his lips with a sad smile. "It's fine, Robert. I don't want you to worry about it. Let's just go to sleep, please?"

Her smile, although sad, was at least genuine. So he simply nodded and kissed her fingers, then took her hand in his. "Can I hold you at least?"

Cora didn't answer in words, but nestled up against him when he'd gotten settled upon his back. She let out a soft sigh, her breath ruffling the dark curls on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. "I love you," she whispered, and his heart felt considerably more at ease.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," Robert replied, pressing a kiss goodnight upon her head and closing his eyes.


	4. There's no doubt, you're in deep

"Happy Christmas, darling," Marmaduke whispered into his wife's ear when he saw that she'd awakened at last.

But Rosamund groaned and turned away from him, covering her eyes with an arm. Marmaduke knew better than to ask what was wrong; he knew all too well. And facing her mother again today certainly wouldn't make things any easier – for either of them.

"Can I get you anything? Does your head hurt from last night?" He placed a hand on her arm, squeezing it gently.

"No, Marmaduke. It's fine. At least – " she took a deep breath – "I'm not hungover. My head hurts for other reasons."

"I know." He paused, bowing his head after she didn't move. "Rosamund, please. I can't stand this. Can't we just –"

Rosamund's arm jerked away from her face, and she turned to glare at her husband. "Can't we just leave it for Christmas day? It's bad enough that my mother can't seem to let it go; do I have to hear it from you too?"

Drawing away from her, Marmaduke nodded slowly, his visage pained. He got out of bed and, without another word, got his underwear and went into the bathroom to shower.

Sighing noisily, Rosamund covered her face with her hands. It tore her to shreds, knowing how cruel she could be to him. Once the sound of the water indicated he was in the shower, she turned into her pillows and sobbed, wanting it all to go away.

* * *

Martha took a good look at everyone gathered around the breakfast table. Patrick appeared considerably worse for wear, and Martha suspected that if he'd been allowed, he'd have his head in his hands. Although putting up a front of her usual impermeability, Violet was pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes. In addition to matching these shadowed patches, red rimmed Rosamund's eyes. Marmaduke and Robert both seemed uncharacteristically closed-lipped, and Cora…. Well, Cora's countenance and behavior still worried her mother.

Exchanging a glance with Isidore, who sent her a nod, Martha got up to have a word with the butler. When she sat back down, she dove into her eggs again and turned to her left, where Cora sat. "Why is the butler here on Christmas day?"

Cora leaned toward her mother, her eyes following the person in question out the door and wondering where he'd gone. "Thompson and the cook, Mrs. Gage, are cousins. They have no other family, so they spend their holidays here. It's very convenient actually, as they don't mind working. And they have their own celebration downstairs while we have lunch and open gifts in the afternoon."

"Well, I would say that _is_ convenient, isn't it?" Martha stabbed a piece of ham and cut it into bite-sized bits.

"It's nice that we don't have to worry about eating, yes. Because hardly any of us can cook."

"You can, Cora Catherine. Don't tell me that three years has taken away your ability to cook!" She stared at her daughter.

"Of course not, Momma. But there're not very many occasions for it."

Martha watched as Cora averted her eyes and blushed. She knew she had settled upon a memory of cooking that probably had to do with Robert. Grinning as well, Martha kept shoveling ham and eggs into her mouth.

In about ten minutes – during which silence reigned over the breakfast table – Thompson rolled in a trolley containing various items, most prominent of these being a bottle of champagne and a bottle of vodka.

"What is this?" Violet asked, eyeing the butler and his trolley.

"I requested that Mr. Thompson here bring us the ingredients for mimosas and bloody Marys. I'll be bartender, if you need me to be, Thompson?" Martha tilted her head at the butler in inquiry.

"That won't be necessary, ma'am," he replied with a smile.

"Why on earth would we want these at breakfast?" Violet scowled at Martha.

"Because, Violet," she said, drawing her name out into three distinct syllables, "these are perfectly acceptable, traditional beverages for breakfast. Furthermore, I think there are more than a few hangovers at this table, and people might appreciate a bit of the hair of the dog, as it were."

"How distasteful," Violet spat out, but fell silent, knowing Martha would do as she wished anyway.

"Anyone want to give Mr. Thompson an idea what they want?" Most eyes at the table stayed on Violet.

Isidore cleared his throat. "I'll have a mimosa, please, Thompson." He smiled and bit into a piece of bacon.

"And I'll have a bloody Mary – a strong one." Martha grinned at her husband.

After Thompson had prepared their drinks, Patrick piped up, "I'd like one of those bloody Marys, actually."

Violet turned to him, wide-eyed. Then she had to twist her head around several more times as the children followed with drink requests as well – Rosamund casting a particularly venomous glance at her mother and setting her jaw stubbornly.

Isidore had to hand it to Martha: she often knew the right thing to lighten a mood and loosen up a gathering of people in distress. He knew better than to think it was permanent, however, especially with Violet practically vibrating with aggravation at the other end of the table.

This family needed his and Martha's gift. In the meantime, he would enjoy the festive mood that mimosas and bloody Marys had created in the room.

* * *

The hours between breakfast and lunch were blessedly quiet ones. Cora, Rosamund, and Violet all went upstairs to rest, none having slept well the night before. Martha shrugged and asked the menfolk if she could join them on their walk through the gardens.

"You don't mind if we smoke, do you, Martha?" Patrick asked her, extracting his pipe from his pocket and holding it up, his mood having lifted considerably over breakfast, despite his wife's dangerous looks.

"Of course not, Patrick. In fact…. I might join you, if it's as cold as Issi says."

Trying not to look scandalized, Patrick replied, "Pipe or cigar? I can get an extra pipe and some tobacco for you, if you like."

"That's very kind of you. Actually, I think I will have a pipe. You shouldn't be more outnumbered than you already are."

At her wink, Patrick's heart did a little flip. He knew Martha wasn't actually flirting with him in that way. But he couldn't help feeling something. It had been a long time since Violet had been flirtatious with him. "Let me get another pipe, Martha." He shuffled toward the library as the others began putting on their coats and scarves, pulling on gloves.

"Hathor!" Robert called out, grinning when the yellow lab puppy bounded toward him.

"Let me guess," Isidore began. "Cora named her?"

"How did you know?"

"Cora has always loved Ancient Egypt. Hathor is the goddess of motherhood and fertility."

Isidore's heart caught at the look on Robert's face. "She never said that. Only that it was an Egyptian name."

Patrick came back into the hallway just then, smiling and holding out another pipe. "I've got more tobacco too." He touched his jacket pocket.

"Get your coat on, then. We're all ready!" Martha smiled at him from beneath a royal blue beret that matched her bright blue, hounds tooth patterned, wool coat.

They started out together, the puppy running ahead of them and bringing back various sticks and rooting around in the dead foliage of the gardens. Martha and Patrick got their pipes started, lingering behind the rest as it took less time for the others to fire up the cigars.

"You know, Patrick, you shouldn't let Violet bully you so much."

Patrick puffed on his pipe and fixed his eyes on the redhead who walked next to him.

"Unless, of course, you _like_ to be bullied." She chuckled and shook her head.

Starting to choke, Patrick coughed.

"Steady there! I have no wish to offend." She thumped him on the back good-naturedly.

"No," he managed, "you haven't. It's simply refreshing – although quite disconcerting – to be in the presence of a woman who says such things. Don't misunderstand me, Martha."

She grinned at him. "I won't now, Patrick." Taking a long drag from the pipe, she exhaled smoke into the cold air. The pair walked behind the others in companionable silence.

* * *

Lunch proved rather uneventful, for which most of the family were thankful. After they'd served themselves and had their fill, they removed to the library. Thompson had already taken the time to transfer the gifts from under the tree to one of the tables in the room. Cora and Rosamund volunteered to pass these out, and Robert served small glasses of eggnog.

The holiday spirit had seemed finally to permeate the house. Patrick conferred with Violet about which Christmas records to play, and Marmaduke laughed, telling them they really needed to switch to CDs. Shrugging, Patrick grinned at Violet and stood to put a Rat Pack holiday compilation record on the player.

Robert put glasses of eggnog by Rosamund and Cora's places, then he sat himself down next to the growing pile of gifts for his wife. He grinned when he realized that she hummed along to the record, probably unaware that she even did so. His eyes followed her around the room, glad that her mood had lightened. It brightened his own markedly. As Cora dropped down next to him, her stack of presents in her arms, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and reveled in her return smile.

Once everyone had gotten settled, they began unwrapping. Soon noises of paper and bows being ripped from boxes were joined by chattering consisting of thanks, sounds of approbation and surprise, and some laughter. Much of the laughter arose from those recognizing that part of their gifts from Martha and Isidore probably should be saved to unwrap later. Martha beamed at how everyone looked pleased – and some only slightly shocked as well – by their "extra" presents.

As Patrick got up to put a new record on the turntable, Isidore nudged Martha. She glanced around to be sure that the gifts had all been opened, the glance lingering on her daughter and Robert, who had their heads together, examining the perfumes he'd gotten her. Waiting for Patrick to resume his place beside Violet, Martha held a hand out for the envelopes Isidore had stashed in his inside jacket pocket. Sharing a nod, Martha and Isidore both stood.

"Martha and I have one last gift to give each of you," Isidore announced while Martha moved around the group, giving everyone one of the hand-written Christmas cards.

She rejoined him, and they held their breath as the rest opened the envelopes and began to read the message on the cards. They knew this could go very badly. And as expressions went from curious to embarrassed and appalled, they wondered if perhaps they'd made a mistake.

"Mother!" Cora spoke first, gaping at her parents. "Do all these say the same thing?"

Isidore nodded. "Yes, Cora, they do. And if you'll look, you will see that it's not your mother's handwriting, but mine. So think before you speak to her so sharply." He put out his hands and addressed the entire room. "Look, everyone, Martha and I are trained in this sort of thing, and, in our professional opinions, we believe there is a lot of tension, many issues that simply aren't being addressed. And, as caring family members, we wanted to help. As we have the means to help." He pointed to the card Marmaduke held, he being the person next to him. "Please, let us do what we can to help."

The faces around the room transformed in various ways as Isidore made his speech. Cora looked down, and Robert averted his eyes to the side, both very red-faced. A dazed expression had crossed Patrick's face, as if he weren't sure if the two of them offering sex therapy sessions was to be believed. Marmaduke's countenance was conflicted, a mixture of surprise and a hint of something akin to hope. Violet's anger had hit a new high, and she seemed about to launch herself off the settee and out the door.

But the most visceral response, even beyond Violet's evident anger, came from Rosamund. She rose from her chair and turned to the Levinsons, trembling and nearly purple. "It's not help; it's meddling. And I'll thank you to stop nosing about in things that are _none_ of your concern. None of us need your help or your sympathy!"

With that Rosamund rushed from the library, screwing up the card and throwing it away from her, nearly tripping over the litter of wrapping paper upon the floor. This time, though, instead of crying, she was simply livid.

"For once I agree with my daughter," Violet said. "All this is highly inappropriate – not that I expected any less – not to mention insulting. I, for one, will not be accepting this _gift_." She spat the word, punctuating the statement by flinging the card onto the floor as well.

"What were you thinking, Mother, Daddy?" Cora's face had screwed up into a look of utter incredulity.

"I had thought that completely clear from what your father already said," Martha dropped down into her chair with a sigh. "Look, we're not insisting anyone come to us and talk. We're simply making ourselves available for consultation while we're here, to offer our professional expertise. We see a need, and we were only wanting to help. No one has to accept it."

Marmaduke had kept his eyes on the door through which his wife had exited. Without moving his eyes, he mumbled to Isidore, "Excuse me, I think I'll just…." He got up and also left.

Cora watched him go and turned back to her parents. "I suppose I give you credit for good intentions, but I highly doubt that anyone will be taking you up on this offer. I certainly won't. If I'd needed advice from either of you, I would have already asked for it."

"Fine. Fine." Without another word, Martha stood again and stalked out.

"Cora, you didn't have to say it like that." Shaking his head at his daughter, Isidore followed in what had become an exodus.

Shutting the door behind him, Isidore found Martha pacing about the room, picking up items as if she wanted to throw them, then putting them down again after changing her mind. He had seen her like this often; she was frustrated.

"Fuck, Issi, they need help! And even more than I thought, or else they wouldn't be so damned stubborn about it!"

Watching her gesticulate wildly around the room, Isidore approached her cautiously. "Martha, the offer is out there. Now it's up to them. You and I both know that people can't be counseled against their will. It doesn't work that way."

"Yes, I know that, but grrrr…." She growled and stood still in front of him, grinding her teeth. "It drives me crazy, Isidore!"

Martha's chest heaved as she panted, and her eyes sparked with a dazzling blue. She shook in her agitation, and the color of her face had heightened, and Isidore found himself – as he did so often – charmed and excited. He took the one step forward to close the distance between them and bent his head to kiss her already parted lips, losing no time in deepening the kiss. In the next instant Martha had clasped her arms around his neck and jumped up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist. Isidore walked them to the door and pressed her up against it, slipping his hands up underneath her blouse and then down over her behind, his fingers beginning to tear at her clothes.

Soon, in similar states of undress, they set up a rhythm against the door, Martha sighing in delight and relief, having needed such a release from her frustration, grateful that her husband always knew when she did.

* * *

"I think you were a bit unfair to Martha and Isidore, Rosamund." Marmaduke sat across from his wife in their room, having pulled a chair close to the window seat she preferred.

Rosamund's eyes shot sparks at him. "Do you? Because I don't agree. I think I said exactly what everyone was thinking."

"No. No, you weren't. I think you said what _you_ were thinking, and quite possibly what your mother was thinking, but –"

"What? What makes you say that?" Rosamund's flush deepened.

"Because she said so, after you left. That she agreed with you."

She appeared stricken. "And what makes you think that no one else did?"

Marmaduke shook his head. "I just didn't get that from anyone else. And Martha looked upset that no one took their gift the way it was intended. Because I do think they want to help. And I know that some of us _need_ help. Despite what you said, Rosamund."

"No. We don't need help. We're going to be fine." She closed her eyes tightly and swallowed hard.

Taking her hand in his, Marmaduke kneaded the back of hers gently with his thumb. "Don't rule out the possibility that we might need help to get to where we once were. Because right now, we aren't alright. And I think you know that." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And I think you know that others can see it. Especially trained eyes like Cora's parents have."

Rosamund opened her eyes and clutched his hand. "I should apologize to them. They were only trying to be kind."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Then she unfolded herself from the window seat and went to the door, casting a glance behind her at Marmaduke and receiving an encouraging nod from him.

She met Cora and Robert coming up the stairs with several carrier bags. "Rosamund, are you alright?" Cora inquired, concern crossing her features.

"Yes, I'm alright." She gave them a hesitant smile.

Robert held up the bags in his hand. "We were bringing you your gifts; you left them downstairs."

"Might you take them to our room? Marmaduke will put them away. I actually wanted to go back to the library to find your parents, Cora." Rosamund made as if to walk past them.

"Oh, they're not there," Cora said with a shake of her head. "They're probably in their room. You know which one, right?"

Nodding, Rosamund started to turn in the other direction. "Yes, I know which one. Thank you, Cora. I'll see you two before dinner." She went back down the hallway, past her own room and to the large guest room at the end of the corridor.

Just as she'd lifted her hand to knock, however, she heard a curious noise from the other side of the door. Her eyes widened as she recognized low moans and gasps along with a steady thumping against the door. Suddenly amused, she covered her mouth to hide her giggle and did a double back to her room.

Cora and Robert looked up from where they were leaving the bags of gifts on the bed and Marmaduke had begun to unpack the items. "Were they there?" Cora inquired.

Rosamund chuckled, rolling her eyes slightly. "Oh, they were there alright."

"Why are you back so soon?" Marmaduke raised an eyebrow at her.

"They were, um, indisposed." Her gaze met Cora's, her lips twitching with mirth.

With an irritated groan, Cora also rolled her eyes. "God, can't they go one afternoon without –" She interrupted herself with a sigh. "Ugh, I don't want to talk about it. My parents are embarrassing – moving on."

"It's not so embarrassing when it's not your parents, is it?" Rosamund teased. Hearing the Levinsons go at it through the door had altered her mood from anger and sadness into an unexpected puckishness.

Robert and Cora shared a glance and then looked away from one another, bright red and grinning.

"Ha! See?" Rosamund sat on the bed and ran her fingers over the fabric of a chenille sweater. "It's nice that they still engage in a bit of afternoon delight." She smirked for a moment, but then fell silent, her eyes lowering, following the movements of her fingers.

Apparently oblivious to his sister's abrupt change of expression, Robert cleared his throat and held out his hand to Cora. "I think we could go have a rest before dinner, don't you?" He smiled at his wife, who chuckled.

"Certainly, Robert." She waved to Marmaduke and Rosamund as they tripped out the door together. "See you two later."

Once the door closed behind him, Marmaduke went around to the other side of the bed and placed his hand atop his wife's on the sweater. "Rosamund?" he ventured. "Is there something you want to tell me?" Even if his sister- and brother-in-law had not seen it, Marmaduke had discerned Rosamund's sudden disquiet.

Without looking up, she shook her head slowly. "No. Let's just put these things away before we have to get ready for dinner."

Marmaduke heaved a deep sigh and touched her cheek with his other hand. "As you like, darling." Before he moved to do as she wanted, though, he bent down and kissed her with great tenderness.

It hurt him that Rosamund barely responded.

* * *

"Robert, let's just get dressed for dinner." Cora sounded irritated.

"But – I thought we were going to… you know." He grinned a bit at her, tightening his arms about her waist.

They stood together just inside the door, having spent a lengthy amount of time making out.

Cora's mind kept flashing back to the night before, to how it had ended, and she shook her head, looking away from him. "No, I'm sorry. I've changed my mind. I think I need a good, long soak in the tub after this afternoon."

Robert released her, going over to the window and gazing out onto the brown lawn. "You're doing it again – pushing me away. I don't understand what is happening, Cora. Sometimes you won't even look at me, and it breaks my heart."

Crossing her arms loosely over her waist, Cora took a deep breath. "I apologize, Robert. I don't mean to be this way."

"Perhaps –" He turned back to her. "Perhaps," he repeated, "you should think about talking to one of your parents. Since you won't tell me what's wrong. Maybe they can help you sort whatever this is out."

"No, Robert. That's not an option. It's none of their concern. It's no one else's concern," she said, her voice sharp.

"Mine either, it appears. I'll leave you to your bath, Cora."

She made no move to stop him as he walked past her and out the door, closing it gently behind him. Her shoulders slumping forward, Cora went into the bathroom and turned on the water. Gripping the sides of the tub, she watched as tears splashed into it, Robert's words, the heaviness of his heart in them, ringing in her ears.

* * *

Rosamund ventured downstairs, alone, as soon as she was dressed for dinner. She hoped to catch the Levinsons before anyone else joined them. Glancing into different rooms to see if either of them had come down yet, she thought perhaps she would have to try their bedroom again (a chuckle bubbled up in her throat at this), when she found Martha in the library, bent over something on a table.

"Martha?" Rosamund moved closer to her, interested.

Spinning around, Martha put a hand to her heart. "Holy shit, Rosamund, you startled me! I didn't think anyone would be downstairs this early." She held a pen in her other hand, a stack of small slips of paper on the table behind her.

"I didn't mean to." Her eyes flicked past the woman to the other items on the table. "Is – is that our charades bowl?"

"Fuck," Martha muttered. "Caught red handed."

Rosamund noticed that instead of a guilty look upon her face, Martha seemed amused. "Caught red handed doing what, might I ask?"

"You won't rat me out?"

"No, I won't."

"I was switching out a bunch of the charades phrases for different ones. We _really_ need to lighten up around here." She held up one of the original ones. "'The Sound of Music'? Seriously, Rosamund, who _writes_ these?"

Unpredictably, Rosamund chuckled, tickled by this. "Papa does. Don't blame him, though. He knows Mama won't approve of anything too spicy."

"Well, if you will be so good as to guard the door, dear, I'm going to most definitely _spice_ things up a bit for our game of charades this evening."

Rosamund stood up straight and saluted Martha. "Yes, ma'am." Her grin twisted into a grimace, however. "But before I do, I need to say something."

Martha's eyes softened. "Rosamund, you don't have to say anything. I understand."

"But I want to. I was harsh, rude, and I apologize. I know you want to help. I just am not sure we are – at least, I mean, _I_ am not – ready."

"Fair enough." She smiled warmly and touched Rosamund's arm. "Apology accepted. Now – take up your position by the door? I don't want too many people knowing these got switched before I see the looks on their faces later." Winking, Martha turned back to her slips of paper.

Laughing, Rosamund obeyed, feeling much lighter.

* * *

"Four words!" Cora called out, and Robert nodded. He swayed his hips a bit, and Cora immediately blurted out, "A dance!" At his head shake, she went on to say, "A song!"

Robert grinned and nodded again. His team – Patrick, Cora, and Rosamund – watched, a bit flabbergasted, as he gyrated around, his face bright red. Patrick appeared even more perplexed than the rest of them.

"Oh my God," Martha choked out, unable to contain her laughter.

Isidore leaned near to her, his brows drawn together. "What?"

Putting her lips close to his ear, she whispered what she'd written on the paper.

"Martha!" Isidore hissed, but his face contorted with barely concealed mirth.

"What is it?" Violet whispered.

Martha, beyond speech at this point, waved her hand and clasped her arm around her stomach, bending double.

"Um, I don't think you want to know just yet, Violet," explained Isidore, trying to keep a straight face as he watched his son-in-law gesticulate in a very strange manner.

"These phrases have been bizarre. What was going through Patrick's head when he wrote these?" Violet jerked her head toward Martha's sudden squeak.

"Maybe he was thinking of you, Violet," Martha strangled out, tears of laughter squeezing out of the corners of her eyes.

"Time's up!" Marmaduke shouted.

"Robert, what the hell was that?" Cora had started laughing as well.

As the two of them had made up – more or less – before dinner, Robert walked over to her and whispered in her ear, "What we should have been doing this afternoon." He handed her the slip of paper, crimsoning.

"Oh holy – " Reading the phrase, she stopped herself before letting an obscenity pass her lips in front of her in-laws. "Papa! I didn't even realize you knew who Marvin Gaye was!" She stared at him in awe.

"Of course I do," he blustered, plucking the slip from her fingers. "But I didn't write this!"

Rosamund peered at the slip over her father's shoulder, but said nothing. However, she couldn't stop herself from grinning at Martha.

Violet crossed to their side of the room and snatched the paper. "'Let's Get It On'? Is that some sort of joke, Patrick?

"I told you, I didn't write that!"

Tossing the slip at him, Violet pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. "Honestly, I would have thought better of you. 'Something's Gotta Give' and 'Some Like it Hot' and James Brown and Barry White songs! The next thing we know, the slip of paper will say 'Sexual Healing' or some such nonsense!"

Martha's snort caught everyone's attention. She'd reached into the bowl and pulled out another slip. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Are you prophetic, Violet?" As she couldn't say anything more for chortling so hard, Isidore took the paper from her.

"'Sexual Healing.'" Isidore's face crinkled up in silent merriment.

Violet stared at Patrick in shock. "I expect this from one of them, but not of you!"

"God, Violet, can't you take a joke?" Martha stood finally, facing her. "_I_ switched the phrases. You can ask Rosamund if you don't believe me; she saw me do it."

Rosamund shrugged as Violet turned her stunned gaze upon her. "I thought it was funny, Mama. It's just a joke."

With a loud "humph", Violet stomped out of the room.

"What will it take for that woman to lighten the hell up?" Martha asked.

Isidore glanced at his wife, his eyebrows sky high, making her laugh again.

"Stop that, Issi," she insisted, swatting at his hand as he tried to hold hers.

"Well, more charades or shall we just have our Christmas cheer in the form of heavy drinking?" Marmaduke asked.

"I vote heavy drinking," Rosamund chimed in, raising a hand.

"Yeah, it's no fun using those phrases if Violet isn't here to react," Martha winked at Patrick.

Clearing his throat noisily, Patrick looked down. "Yes, I vote drinking as well." He'd felt the same little stomach flip from earlier, and it embarrassed him.

"Library?" Isidore inquired of the group.

Several heads nodded, and they all stood and went toward the library.

It only took a couple of strong whiskeys before Rosamund's head lolled upon Marmaduke's shoulder. "I should get her upstairs," he announced to the others.

Cora exchanged a look with Robert, and he said, "We'll go up with you. It's been a long day." Taking Cora's hand, he helped her up and they went about the room with their "goodnights" and "happy Christmases." Marmaduke lifted Rosamund up in his arms and followed Cora and Robert out of the room.

"Patrick, you don't hate me, do you?" Martha inquired of him.

"No, Martha, of course I don't. It was a joke, and you owned up to it. Violet is just…. Well, I don't know anymore." He lowered his eyes with a sigh and finished his Scotch. He'd already lost count of how many he'd had.

Martha glanced at Isidore, and they nodded. "I'll leave you two men to chat, I think. Goodnight, Patrick." She patted his shoulder as she passed him and dropped a kiss on her husband's head, sweeping out of the room.

But as she got to the top of the steps, Martha spotted Marmaduke coming out of his and Rosamund's bedroom. "Marmaduke? Is Rosamund alright?"

Marmaduke appeared somewhat relieved to see her. "Yes, well… Actually, I was hoping to speak to either you or Isidore, if you don't mind."

"What about?"

Indicating an empty sitting room, Marmaduke waited until Martha walked in and sat down. He took a chair across from her and said, "I was hoping to take you up on your offer of counseling."


	5. Your throat is tight, you can't breathe

"Three miscarriages. Three miscarriages in little over two years of marriage."

Martha sat in silence in the dimly lit room, her eyes fastened upon Marmaduke's morose countenance. His head bowed, he held his hands clasped in front of him, his elbows upon his knees.

She knew he'd told no one else. Therefore, she remained quiet while he unburdened himself in his own way, in his own time.

"The doctor strongly recommended that we not try for more. That it could harm Rosamund. I couldn't have that." He lifted his eyes to meet Martha's, moisture beginning to pool in them. "I couldn't risk any harm to her." Taking a deep breath, he hung his head again. "I volunteered for a vasectomy. She didn't need to have to go through invasive surgery, on top of everything else."

Waiting for him to collect his thoughts, to go on, Martha did one thing she didn't usually do with patients. She reached across and took his hand. He was, after all, family.

"So, we won't be having children. We wanted them, both of us. But now we have to figure out how to get past this. But how can we do that, how can we figure out how to be together with this loss, if she won't let us talk about it?" Clutching her hand in his, he covered his face with his other hand, tears escaping from between his fingers and dropping onto the carpet.

Without releasing his hand, Martha moved over to sit in the chair beside him and put her other hand on his back.

"I know, Martha," he continued, when he could speak again, "that it's been harder on her – the physical trauma alone…." He shook his head and pulled out a handkerchief from his suit coat pocket, wiping at his face absentmindedly. "But we both lost those children. They were _our_ children."

Martha spoke for the first time, in a soft voice. "What about other options?"

"We discussed possible surrogacy before my surgery, but she didn't want that. And, to be honest, I would find it difficult to watch someone else carry our baby." He let out a long exhale. "As for adoption – it's all part of everything she doesn't want to talk about."

"Marmaduke, what is it you want to tell her? I mean, besides just getting everything out into the open, what do you want to make sure she knows, despite this reality with which the two of you are faced?"

He turned slightly to look her in the eye. "I – I'm not sure."

"Then just take a moment and think. What, when all is said finally, do you want her to be absolutely certain of, no matter what has already happened or what might happen in the future?"

Marmaduke closed his eyes in thought. After a moment, he opened his eyes once more and spoke, saying firmly, "I want her to know that she is all the family I need. I love her, and we are enough, if it comes to that. She is everything to me." His voice lowered to a whisper. "I don't want to lose her too."

"What makes you think you would lose her?"

"I've seen it before. Couples who lose children or find out they can't have children. It tears at them, ripping them apart. Sometimes sooner, sometimes later. And I'm afraid that if we don't deal with it now, if we don't talk, then that'll be us." He fixed his gaze upon the carpet again, trying to keep himself together.

"I take it that you've tried talking with her?" Martha made her voice very soothing, her hand still on his back, simply to be a reassuring presence for him.

He nodded. "Many times. I don't want to pressure her to, but I – I _need _to. That's why I came to you."

Martha thought a moment, recalling the way the couple had acted in front of their family. "Have you considered that perhaps the reason you want to talk about it all is the very reason she doesn't want to? That if she says what she feels, she'll lose you?"

"No. No, I hadn't thought about it that way." Marmaduke's face screwed up in thought.

"May I share a few observations with you?"

He shifted a bit to face her, taking in her warm smile. He nodded. "Please."

"Do you remember that first night, when Cora introduced us?" After he inclined his head in assent, she went on. "You told me that you tease Rosamund often and that she has that nickname for you, 'devil.' But you haven't teased her, not really, and she hasn't called you that once that I've heard."

"Yes, I know," he conceded. Then he frowned. "Do you think that's bad?"

Martha cocked her head to the side. "No, not necessarily. That, combined with your other behavior, indicates a strong sense of protectiveness toward her. You aren't going to hurt her, and you won't let anyone else hurt her either. But I wonder…."

Marmaduke raised his eyebrows. "What do you wonder?"

"If perhaps you might be a little _over_protective?" She went on without waiting for a response. "How long has it been since the last miscarriage?"

"About eight weeks. The doctor put her in the clear a couple of weeks ago."

"And what about your surgery? Are you recovered?"

"Yes. It's been about six weeks for me, but I went to the doctor a week ago, and we agreed that I'm completely healed now." Marmaduke told her all these things without hesitation, having a much deeper sense of calm since beginning to speak, a sense of trust in the woman before him.

"So what about sex? Have you two been intimate in that way yet?" Martha's face never showed any sign of embarrassment or even a flicker of discomfort.

Marmaduke reddened ever so slightly at the direct question. But he didn't falter in answering it. "No. No, we haven't. I wasn't sure she was ready. And, to be honest, I was waiting until we could talk first."

Martha pressed his hand gently. "I want you to consider something, Marmaduke. I want you to think about trying to tell her what you want her to know – what you just told me a little bit ago that you wanted her to take away from any discussion on the subject you would have – to tell her without words. It's possible that Rosamund needs to cross that physical intimacy boundary before she finds her own words. She may need to have that reconnection first."

"But – I don't want her to think…. I can't see being the first –" He interrupted himself with a cough, looking down, finally self-conscious.

"And I'm not suggesting that you initiate that part. I agree that Rosamund should be the one to be first in that regard. However, you seem to forget all the other things that create intimacy, beyond that. I know you know them – and I have a feeling you enjoy them too, not just that particular result." She smiled softly at him again as he raised his eyes to hers. "A step at a time, Marmaduke. Reestablishing what you had before, knowing all that the two of you have been through, it won't be easy, and it won't happen overnight. But you can tell her things, the things you need her to know, and you won't have to use words."

"Do you think that, eventually, she'll be willing to really talk about it?"

"I do. I realize that you need that. She probably does too. But I have a feeling that it isn't the first step in this instance. Are you alright with that?"

Marmaduke nodded and smiled a little. "Anything else I should know?"

Martha gave his hand a squeeze. "I think you know everything you need to now. But you can always come talk to me – or even Isidore – if you would like."

Suddenly, he looked uncomfortable. "Martha, might you keep this to yourself? Not tell Isidore? Rosamund didn't want me to tell anyone, and I feel a little guilty even telling you…." He trailed off, averting his face.

"If that's what you would like, Marmaduke, then I won't tell a soul. I'm just glad that you told someone. And I hope that it's helped."

He turned back to her and nodded. "I think it has. At least, I already feel better. And you've given me lots to think about."

"Good. Now, do you have something else to ask or to talk about?"

"No, Martha. That's the one thing that's been weighing upon me. And I'm grateful to you for letting me speak of it."

"You're always welcome, Marmaduke."

Pressing her hand one last time, he rose and started toward the door, sending a small smile her way before crossing the threshold and striding to his own room. Martha stared at the open portal for a few moments, feeling for the pair, and wishing them truly on the road to happiness.

When Marmaduke got to his room, he moved about in the light of the one bedside lamp, changing into his pajamas as noiselessly as possible. He went into the bathroom and closed the door to brush his teeth and run a wet washcloth over his face. Returning to the bedroom, he switched off the bedside lamp and slid beneath the covers, scooting to where Rosamund lay on her back and had warmed her side of the bed.

"Marmaduke?" she murmured, still half asleep.

"Shhh, darling. I'm just getting comfortable." He slipped an arm beneath her pillow, under her neck, and nestled against her side, his other arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. He briefly nuzzled his face into her hair, inhaling its familiar fragrance. When she turned her face toward him, he pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss before resting his head down, his forehead touching hers.

Rosamund smiled and put her hands on the arm he had draped across her stomach. "Happy Christmas, Marmaduke."

With a small sigh, he whispered, "Happy Christmas, my love. Sweet dreams."

One step, Martha had said. One step at a time.

* * *

Meanwhile, Isidore and Patrick sipped at Scotch in front of the fire in the library. Isidore poured, and the more Patrick drank, the more soda Isidore tipped into the glass with the whiskey.

It didn't stop Patrick from beginning to ramble.

"I love Violet, you know, really love her. But sometimes…." He shook his head.

Isidore glanced around at his friend, wondering how they'd gotten from talking about the best pipe tobacco to Violet.

"Sometimes she makes me so irritated. I don't show it, you know, mate. Or at least, I try not to." Patrick had another sip of his Scotch and leaned his head back against the settee, closing his eyes and working his shoes off his feet.

"You do a good job of that, Patrick, as far as I've seen." Isidore put his own drink aside, sensing his friend needed to get something off his chest.

"She's so beautiful." He opened his eyes and attempted to focus them on Isidore. "She's so very stunning, even when she's exasperated. But it's been…. It's been so long since we've…." He paused, lowering his eyes. "Well, you know."

"Oh," Isidore said, sitting up straighter. "Perhaps you need to take me up on that session?"

Patrick lifted his head up enough to turn it from side to side, saying, "No, no, no, no." He looked somewhat sick when he stopped, his face pale. "No, not that. She wouldn't forgive me if she found out. Can't we talk just man to man – mate to mate, Issi?"

Isidore nodded. "Of course we can, Pat. You can say whatever you like to me."

"Thanks, Iss." Patrick leaned back and closed his eyes once again, and just when Isidore thought he might have drifted off, he piped up, "It's been months. Bloody months since we were together."

"Months? Literal months?" Isidore began to get a better idea of why Patrick and Violet were acting the way they were.

"Yes, actual, literal months. I don't even know what happened. Can you fall out of the habit of having sex?"

Isidore stared at his friend, whose eyes remained shut. "I think you can forget to make the effort, or maybe think that after a while the other person doesn't want it anymore. What about Violet? Has she said anything?"

"Oh, Violet never says anything. It's just always been understood, you know. But now… now I don't know."

"Patrick, if it's been understood, what makes this different?" Isidore rested his forearms on his thighs, leaning forward.

"She's so angry lately, so irritated with everyone. Not just me. It makes me think she'd rather not." Patrick opened one eye and trained it on his friend. "You're not turning this into therapy are you?" he slurred.

Isidore suppressed a chuckle. "No, of course not. You just get to benefit from my particular brand of knowledge. As your friend." He smiled. "Did you think that maybe she's irritated – or more so – because she, too, is feeling the same lack you do?"

"Lack?" Patrick stared at Isidore, apparently bewildered.

"The sex, Pat," he said plainly. "It's very likely she's missing it just as much as you do. But if she hasn't ever been the initiator or been comfortable talking about it, she would tell you in much more subtle ways."

"You think so?" At Isidore's nod, Patrick scrunched up his nose in thought and brought his free hand to his forehead, rubbing it. Then he heaved a deep sigh. "She asked me the other night whether I was bored with her. Do you think that could be one of those subtle things you're talking about?"

Isidore gaped at him. "Most definitely, Patrick. What did you say? What did you do?"

He dropped his hand onto his leg. "I told her that of course I wasn't bored with her. That I love her and could never be bored. Then I kissed her, and we went to sleep."

"Good lord, Pat. You missed the perfect opportunity. Knowing Violet even as little as I do, she was inviting you to be with her – to actually _prove_ you're not bored with her." He shook his head a little.

"Oh." Patrick's nose crinkled up again, then his expression transformed into one of mortification, and he smacked his forehead. "Oh bloody hell. No wonder she was so upset when she thought I'd written those charades phrases."

Isidore nodded sagely. "I have to ask you something, Pat. You might not like it."

"What?" His blurred vision made it difficult to focus on his mate on the settee across from him.

"Are there any other, let's say, problems or challenges you've been facing? In the bedroom, I mean? Any other reason it's been months?"

Patrick drew his brows together and turned his head slightly with incomprehension.

Isidore realized that he was going to have to spell it out to his inebriated friend. "You can still get it up, right?"

Instead of flushing in embarrassment, Patrick waved a hand, his face clearing. "Ah, that."

"Yes, that. Because if you can't, that's a whole different conversation."

"No, that's definitely not the problem." He shook his head as much as he could before letting out a low groan and stopping. "No. I most certainly don't have _that_ problem. I have a feeling that's why cold showers were invented."

Isidore had to quickly contain his laughter. As humorous as the conversation had become, he knew Patrick had a real difficulty. "Well, that's one thing with which you won't have to deal. So we can turn to the other things."

"Yes, the things that mean that I haven't gotten any in months; the things that mean that my wife may think that I don't want her, and therefore will probably not even try anymore – or want me to." Patrick stared at his friend's sympathetic face. "God, Issi, what kind of mess have I gotten into?"

"Pat, just take a deep breath. First, there is no blame here. These things happen, and all marriages go through similar phases. Second, I think maybe the two of you have reached a point where it's going to take more than you walking up to her and asking if she would like a roll in the hay. You might need to do a little wooing."

"Wooing? As in…?"

"As in wooing her. As in –" Isidore threw up his hands. "God, Pat, do you realize that since we've been here I haven't even seen you hold Violet's hand? Apart from a while this afternoon when everyone was opening gifts, you've barely even smiled at one another. I know you love her, and I'm sure she knows it too, but you need to tell her anyway. Tell her and show her. Show you haven't forgotten how _not_ boring she is. That she still excites you, that you still find her enchanting, beautiful."

Finally putting his glass aside, Patrick put his hands over his face, sighing deeply. "You're right, mate," he muttered around his fingers. "I envy you, you know. You and Martha. When you were in the library last night, I just couldn't help thinking it would be wonderful if Violet and I were that way with each other."

Now Isidore did laugh. "You heard that? Did you see anything?"

Patrick let his hands fall slowly from his face, a blush creeping up his neck. "Oh, I – I didn't mean to. I wasn't going to say anything. I'm sorry, mate, for eavesdropping."

Flicking his hand in a dismissive gesture, Isidore continued to chuckle. "Don't worry about that at all. We really don't mind being overheard sometimes."

"Lord, Violet would, were the situation reversed. Not that she'd let me grope her in the library anyway," he grumbled.

"One thing at a time, Pat. Let's work with this more fundamental issue first."

"Don't say _issue_ like that, Iss. You're sounding shrinky again."

"Sorry. I don't mean to." Isidore stood and walked over to the liquor cabinet. Pouring a tall glass of water, he brought it over to Patrick. "Here, drink this. It won't help anything if you're ridiculously hungover again tomorrow."

Patrick took the glass from him and began to drink.

"Speaking of which," Isidore said as he sat once more. "You being kicked out of your room last night? Is that a regular occurrence?"

Isidore shook his head slightly and glanced up from the glass. "No. That's a first in a few years."

"Do you think she slept?"

"Nope. And neither did I. We're used to having one another there."

"Do you hold her, or do you keep to your separate sides?"

Patrick placed the empty glass on the table at his elbow and drew his brows together in confusion.

"Trust me," Isidore reassured, "there's a reason I ask."

"I used to hold her – she used to want me to. But now… we stay on our own sides of the bed." Patrick sighed and looked down at his hands on his lap.

Isidore nodded in understanding. "Well, that might be one way to start then. Initially, she may resist; she's not used to it now. But it won't hurt to make the attempt. If you've been sleeping that way for years, I'm sure she will eventually welcome it again." He shrugged.

"I would like to hold her again. I miss it, mate. I miss _her_." Patrick rubbed his face and yawned. "Hell, even when we're in the same bed, I miss her, you know?"

"I do know. I don't just understand – I _know_." Isidore smiled at his friend.

Patrick gaped at him. "You do? You and Martha?"

Inclining his head, Isidore said, "Yes. We had some troubles about ten years ago. It took months to work them out. But we did. And it does often take work, real work. But love _is_ work, isn't it? Real love is real work. Boy, is it worth it, though."

Blinking hard, drink, fatigue, and his emotions starting to get the better of him, Patrick nodded in agreement. "Yes. I think it is. I'm willing to. Now that I know better how to proceed." He opened his mouth again in a large yawn.

"Alright, friend, I think it's time to get you upstairs." He stood and tugged on Patrick's hands until he heaved him off the settee. "Lean on me."

Doing as he was told, Patrick shuffled beside Isidore toward the stairs. "Thanks, Issi. You're a good mate. 'Tis a shame you live all the way across the damn pond…." He struggled to keep his eyes open.

"There we go, Pat. Step by step here." He got the drunken man up the stairs finally and practically dragged him down the hall to his and Violet's room.

"Iss, can you make sure I hit the bed and not the floor?" he asked in a loud whisper.

"What if Violet is awake?"

"No, she won't be. I can sleep in my clothes, but I don't want to wake her up. Please, mate."

"Okay," Isidore agreed, reaching out to grasp the door knob and open it wide enough to lug Patrick over the threshold.

Violet slept curled up on her side, breathing steadily, her hands tucked under her chin. Isidore smiled and prayed that they wouldn't disturb her. He had Patrick sit on the bed and held him upright as he carefully removed his suit coat. Stowing this under his arm, Isidore helped the other man lie back. Patrick's eyelids fluttered open, and he whispered, "Shoes."

Isidore pointed to his friend's stocking feet and shook his head. "Downstairs," he replied softly, draping the coat over a chair back. Raising a hand in a gesture of farewell, Isidore backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

The sight of his wife only just then sitting down at the vanity to take off jewelry and brush her hair surprised Isidore. "You came up here ages ago, Martha." He eased his suit coat over his shoulders and opened the closet to hang it up.

"I know." She turned in her chair, looking somewhat sad. "I had someone come and talk to me, and it hasn't been long since we finished."

Isidore's brows rose. "Who?"

"Marmaduke, but he swore me to secrecy, so I can't tell you about it. I hope you don't mind." She rested her hands on her lap.

"Therapist-patient privilege, darling. Of course I don't mind. He doesn't have to know that you told me even that much." He went to her and took her hands from her lap, then leaned down to kiss her. He didn't mention that she looked sad, realizing that it probably had something to do with what she and Marmaduke had spoken about.

"Did you have a nice time with Patrick?" She stood and turned, gesturing to the zipper on her dress.

Sliding the zipper pull down, he began to chuckle. "Oh yes. Poor man, though. I feel a bit sorry for him."

Martha twisted her head around to look at him while he ran his fingers up and down her back and slowly slipped the dress off her shoulders. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, although not exactly a session – at his own insistence – we had quite a lengthy chat about his sex life with Violet. Or, to be more accurate, lack thereof." He hooked his fingers under the straps of her slip and bra on her left shoulder and dragged them down her arm, replacing them with his lips.

Rolling her eyes at his words, Martha bent her head to the other side, starting to breathe heavier with his attentions. "I find myself completely unastonished at that. What else did he say?"

Isidore stepped in front of her and twisted his fingers in her hair, gazing at her. "He said he envied us."

"Well," she murmured, smiling and wrapping her arms about his waist. "There is much to envy, isn't there?"

Nodding, Isidore grinned at her before his lips captured hers, and they became lost to anything outside of the circle of their embrace.

* * *

An embrace was what Violet found herself within when she woke up very early the next morning. She turned her head toward where Patrick, still fully dressed, pressed his front against her back, his arms knotted around her middle. Drawing her brows together, confused, she closed her eyes and wriggled slightly, trying to get comfortable again without waking her husband.

"Hmmm, Violet," he mumbled, evidently awake now despite her intentions. He moved his head to rest against her neck and tightened his arms around her, nibbling gently along the curve of her neck and shoulder. Although his head still throbbed, he faintly recalled waking in the middle of the night and moving over to hold his wife; it had been foremost upon his mind since talking to Isidore.

But Violet plucked at his hands and squirmed. "Patrick, stop that. You reek of whiskey." She wrinkled her nose up and detached herself from him, standing and facing him, her fists upon her hips.

Patrick looked up at her through bloodshot eyes. Her long, red hair fell down one shoulder, and she panted with exasperation and the exertion of prying his arms away from her. Her blue eyes flashed at him, and her cheeks had flooded with color. All he wanted was for her to lie back down beside him so he could hold her again. Instead, he sighed and rolled onto his back, putting his hands over his face. "That didn't used to bother you so much," he stated. "But I apologize." He let out a low moan as his head thumped even harder. "God, I'm miserable."

"Well, that's what you get for drinking so much," Violet snarled before removing herself to the bathroom.

"Fuck," Patrick muttered. He felt slightly better for saying something that would undoubtedly have irritated his wife. "Fuck." The hangover wasn't the only thing making him miserable.

Heaving himself over onto his stomach, he closed his eyes and attempted to sleep once more, his clouded brain clinging to Isidore's words from before: _…she may resist, but it won't hurt to make the attempt…. Real love is real work. Boy, is it worth it, though._ And _step by step…_. Of course, Patrick wasn't sure if Isidore had been talking about his relationship with Violet or getting up the stairs, but, either way, it applied, didn't it?

Patrick's mind firmly fixed on that advice, he fell into a deep doze, snoring heavily.


	6. Your heart beats in double time

"Martha, you have to see this." Robert stopped in front of a door close to his and Cora's bedroom, his face all alight.

The three of them had come up from an afternoon spent playing cards. The others had dropped out, one by one, some going up for naps, some going outside for a walk, until Martha, Robert, and Cora were the only three left playing. Eventually, Martha decided to check on Isidore, who'd gone upstairs, and her daughter and son-in-law accompanied her, Cora ready for a rest before dinner.

Glancing at her daughter, Martha followed Robert into the room. Sunlight played upon the walls, painted a soft yellow. A white crib and a comfortable rocking chair sat in the middle of the carpet, and a changing table and wardrobe were along one of the walls. A set of low bookshelves had been placed under the windows, already filled with books and stuffed animals.

Robert grinned, walking to the center and resting his hands upon the crib railing. "It's the nursery we've fitted up."

After looking around briefly, Martha fixed her eyes on Cora. She'd bowed her head and now studied her hands intently. "It's very nice, Robert."

"And it will do for a boy or a girl. When we know what we're having, we can have a mural painted along this wall…." He walked over to the wall in question and pointed, gesturing as he described what they would have, depending upon son or daughter.

Martha watched as Cora silently turned away and tiptoed out the door, her fingers wiping at her face. Robert continued to speak about their plans, not having noticed Cora's exit.

When he turned back around, addressing Martha, he broke off abruptly and stared at the place where his wife had been standing. "What happened to Cora?" he inquired, his eyes wide.

"She left." With a sigh, Martha walked to the door and closed it, then indicated the rocking chair. "I think you and I should have a chat, Robert."

* * *

A persistent knocking upon the door woke Isidore from his nap. Rubbing his eyes, he got up and opened the door. "Cora? Cora, darling, what's wrong?"

She stood there, sniffling. "Daddy, may I come in?" she whispered.

"Yes, yes, come in." He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the room, then, after shutting the door, embraced her tightly. Warm tears soaked into his shirtfront, and he rubbed her back soothingly. "You just take your time, Cora. Then, if you'd like, you can tell your daddy what's wrong."

Within several moments, Cora had calmed down enough to take Isidore's handkerchief and dab her eyes and nose. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at her father and gave him a grateful smile.

"Now that you've gotten that out, do you want to talk about it?" At her pathetic nod, he led her over to a pair of chairs so they could sit.

Cora didn't know how to start. She looked down at her father's hand clasping hers and swallowed.

"Let's maybe begin with what brought you to my door just now?"

Isidore's soft voice and gentle press upon her hand encouraged her. "Robert wanted to show Momma the nursery we've started. He went on about our plans, and I… I simply couldn't listen anymore. The happiness in his voice, how optimistic he is, when we still haven't…." She shook her head, her throat catching.

"Princess?" The name he used to call her in childhood made Cora gaze up into his loving, concerned face. "You've been to a doctor about it? It's not an uncommon amount of time to wait, but I have a feeling that –" At her nod, he stopped, nodding as well.

"We both have. Everything that can be tested is normal. But it feels like it won't happen. And I can't make it happen as much as he wants – as we want – it to. Daddy, I can't stand disappointing him."

"I know, Cora." After a pause, he asked, "Does he show his disappointment?"

Cora smiled a bit and shook her head. "No, he doesn't. He and Violet are very different in that respect. She's very vocal in her disappointment."

"Yes, I've heard." Isidore's fingers tightened around hers.

"Robert, though – he is so good to me. He takes it in stride and keeps saying 'we have time.'"

"But?"

She let out a long exhale and lowered her lashes. "But I know he's disappointed. Not necessarily in me, just the situation. Still, it hurts."

"So, I'll presume you're still 'trying.'"

"Yes."

"And may I ask you a question that may make you feel somewhat uncomfortable, coming from your father?" He watched her carefully.

"You may. Ask anything, Daddy. I haven't spoken to anyone about this, and I admit that it's a weight off." She raised her eyes to meet his again.

"Well, then, I hope you still feel that way when I ask you if you're satisfied – if the sex is fulfilling, I mean."

Cora blushed, but grinned, biting her lip. "It's not as if you and Momma haven't conditioned me to be unabashed by such questions."

"Yet, you're turning red."

"Yes, well, people don't tend to ask things like that around here." She took a breath. "However, I don't mind answering: Yes, it's fulfilling. It's terrific, really, but in the past six months or so, it also seems so duty-laden. I mean, I know what sort of family I married into, that eventually I would need to have children, heirs. But, Daddy, I didn't realize how much stress it would be if it took a while." She wiped a tear away. "And the doctor recommended, if we were in earnest, that we adhere to a schedule. The doctor himself is not so concerned, but I know Violet and Robert would want me to."

Isidore drew back as Cora stood and began pacing the room.

"A schedule, Daddy. As if there wasn't enough determining my life already! I accepted it, you know? I came here, I am trying to learn what it means to be part of his circle, to be Viscountess and eventually Countess. I'm doing my best to do things in a manner that Violet finds acceptable, to make my husband proud of me. And I _want _to have children. Goodness, though, it's not as if I'm middle-aged. So, why a schedule?" Cora halted suddenly and turned to her father, her cheeks flushed and her brow puckered, her hands facing out by her sides. "We don't even have our own home, you know? I always imagined that when I got married, I would live with my husband in our own home – without someone constantly scrutinizing my every move and seeing my every mistake and criticizing every aspect of my life. Robert doesn't understand sometimes. He tries to, but he doesn't. Downton is his home, and it always has been. But I still feel as if I'm living in someone else's home." Tears pricked her eyes again.

"Do you want to move out, Cora?"

"That's the thing. I _don't_ want to do that, Daddy. Robert and I want to raise our children here. Both of us. I want them to have their roots here too. But I'm having a difficult time because I feel so rootless here. I don't feel like this house is my own. How am I supposed to help my children feel connected to this place, if I still feel so disconnected? What am I to do?"

Isidore got up and, perceiving how his daughter trembled with emotion, wrapped his arms around her. "Princess, I think you've hit on two things that are bothering you."

He felt Cora nod against his shoulder. "Yes."

"And I think they're connected."

She lifted her head and gave him a perplexed look. "How so?"

"Well, you're telling me that this sense of duty is starting to pervade even your bedroom activities, yes?" He waited for her to nod before continuing. "The one room that probably has felt like your own - the one place you didn't have to try to conform or be anyone but yourself, where you don't have to be 'Viscountess Downton,' but can be Cora – and now you're not free of scrutiny even there."

"Daddy, what do I do?"

Releasing her, he smiled reassuringly and took her hand. "Come sit again, and I'll tell you what I think you should do."

They got comfortable in the chairs once more, and Cora waited for her father to speak.

"I think you need to make this house as much your own as you can. Whatever you would feel free to do in your own house, you should do here."

Cora drew her brows together. "Do you mean, like throw a party or something? Because I already do things like that. I just have to make sure Violet hasn't already planned something at the same time. Otherwise… I don't see anything different I would do in my own house. Nothing that would make this one feel more my own."

"Well, I think there is. Would you feel free to, say, have sex with Robert in the drawing room?"

"Daddy!" She started giggling. "Do people actually do that?"

Isidore's eyebrows rose, his countenance serious.

"Oh, I suppose they do." Her giggles tapered off. "I think I see what you mean, though." Color spread from her neck and up into her hair. "What if Violet – ?"

"What if Violet caught you? It's your house too, isn't it? Yours and Robert's? So – act like it. It's the only way you're going to feel connected. I don't mean you literally have to have sex in the drawing room, Cora. But find something that will make you feel like you belong here just as much as they do." He touched her cheek. "Because you do, and I think Robert would tell you the same thing."

Cora smiled. "I would hope so. I love him so much, Daddy."

"I know you do, princess. You wouldn't be here otherwise." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Do you feel better?"

"I do feel better, actually. I hadn't wanted to tell Robert any of this; it seemed silly. But I am glad I told you."

"I am too, Cora. It doesn't do to keep these things shut up inside for long. It starts to show, no matter how deep we try to hide it."

Sighing, Cora nodded. "Yes, I know." Kissing his cheek, she got up. "Thank you, Daddy. I think I'll go lie down now – rest and think about what you've said."

"I hope you do. And I hope you'll find a way to feel at home." Rising, he walked her to the door. "See you at dinner, Cora." Isidore watched her walk down the hall and disappear into her room.

* * *

"I don't understand. Why would she leave and not say anything?" Robert, his bafflement plain on his face, sat in the rocker and waited for Martha to drag a wing chair over near him.

"It looked like she couldn't say anything. Like she was crying." Martha pursed her lips together and crossed her legs.

Robert made as if to get up. "I should go to her."

Martha held up a hand. "If my guess is correct, she went to find her father. So she's fine. You, on the other hand – I have a strong feeling that something is going on between you two."

Although he sat back down, Robert squirmed and glued his eyes to the carpet. "I don't know what you mean."

"Right. Of course you don't. Because you and Cora haven't been acting strangely ever since we got here."

"I still don't know what you mean."

Martha rolled her eyes. "You normally aren't this bad at lying, Robert." She exhaled noisily in irritation. "Obviously you're having sex, if you're still talking about children –" Robert's head snapped up, and he gaped at her, his mouth opening to speak. But she cut him off. "What I wonder is how much pressure you are putting upon Cora about it, since we _know_ your mother is dropping heavy hints and has no scruples about passing judgment upon the childless in this house."

He blinked at her, hard, his jaw moving up and down several times before his voice could catch up. "But I – I don't pressure her. I never would do that. And it angers me when Mama does it. It's not fair to Cora. We still have time."

"You do. You're both very young, and you haven't been married that long. So why all this already?" She gestured around the room. "You're not even expecting yet."

"We're just being prepared, Martha. There's nothing wrong in that." Robert leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

"No, but there is something wrong when every time babies or children are mentioned your wife looks sad or upset. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Does she?" He sighed and lowered his eyes. "She _has_ seemed sadder lately somehow, and she's been pushing me away." Glancing up, he looked at his mother-in-law. "She won't talk about it. I've tried, several times, to get her to tell me. But she won't."

Martha nodded in understanding. "Yes, Cora does that. She doesn't want to bother you with what she sees is something she should deal with herself. It would be something she doesn't blame you for."

Robert's brows lifted. "She said something like that, actually. That it wasn't my fault. But – how come I feel like it is?"

Smiling now, Martha reached over and put a hand upon his knee. "Because you love her, and you know something is wrong. And I think you've had some indicators of what's bothering her that perhaps you don't know how to work out. Am I right?"

"I don't know, really." He shrugged and uncrossed his arms, leaning forward and propping his head up on his hands.

"Come on, Robert. Anything that you found strange or made you feel guilty, like you said."

Robert pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to remember. "I said something, the other night, after we… after we were together. And she stopped me, wouldn't let me finish what I was going to say, pulled away from me."

"What did you begin to say?"

He removed his hands, opened his eyes, and trained them on Martha. "I simply was going say that maybe we had – that that time we –"

"That you'd conceived a child?" Martha tilted her head.

Letting out a small sigh, Robert nodded. "Yes. But she said something like 'don't say it.' Is it wrong for me to be hopeful?"

"No, Robert. It's not wrong for you to be hopeful. But how often do you say things like that just after having sex?"

Robert drew his brows together for a few seconds, then uttered an "oh." He ran his hand over his mouth and chin several times. "Oh God, Martha. No wonder she's been so hesitant and keeping me at arm's length lately." He closed his eyes. "She must think I'm as bad as Mama."

Martha put her hand over his. "She doesn't. I am certain about that. The fact that she hasn't just kicked you out of bed attests to that. She's not angry with you; she's been protecting you. You both want a child, and she lets you hold off your disappointment in whatever way you can: being hopeful, as you admitted. But, Robert, it's also a constant reminder to her that, so far, you haven't conceived, despite everything – despite how much she loves you and how much you both do want a child."

"I didn't realize, Martha. If I had…." He covered his eyes with his other hand, shaking his head. "What do I do?" he whispered. "How do I make it better?"

"First, I have to ask you something. It's bound to be embarrassing for you, as shy as I know you are about such things, but it'll help me know how to advise you."

He lowered his hand enough to meet her eyes. "What do you need to know?"

"Think for a moment over the past, say, three months. The times you've – alright, I'll say it in a more euphemistic way, Robert – been together. In how many of those times was a child _not_ a possible outcome? Or, how many times did you simply not think of that as a goal – or even a result – if it was possible?"

Robert's face grew red as he stared at his mother-in-law and remembered all the times he'd been with his wife in the previous three months. He shook his head. "None," he admitted, a guilty expression forming upon his face.

Martha allowed her concern to show. "Then I'm worried that you're pressuring yourself too. No wonder you're having such a difficult time. It's too much. I would think Violet is more than enough without you adding to it."

"It wasn't on purpose, Martha. It's not as if we're not enjoying ourselves in the process…."

"I'm not questioning that. But, truly, you might need to refocus yourself. Sex is a form of care, of loving. I know you love Cora. So perhaps, in order to make sure that you're not putting unnecessary pressure on either of you, you might endeavor to take your mind off possible outcomes and concentrate on certain ones. Don't think of it as a process – enjoy yourselves anyway. Don't think about making babies. Make love instead. Show her that at the end of the day, it's her happiness that you want." She smiled at him. "Sometimes it simply takes a while to conceive. In the meantime, you've been given a gift. You don't have to share your wife with anyone else. Her attention is all yours. Take advantage of that."

Robert let out a long breath and nodded. "You're right, Martha. I love her so very much. And I do want her happiness. I kept thinking that having a baby would be what makes us happy. But we can be happy before that too, can't we?" He fixed his eyes on hers. "When we married, I promised to do what I could to make Cora happy. And, lately, she hasn't been. If I can change that, I will. At least, I'll make the attempt. I can't be happy if she isn't."

Martha nodded slowly at him. "I know you'll do what you can, Robert. I'm glad you and I had this chat."

"You know what, Martha?" he asked, starting to grin. "As much as I might have been against talking to anyone about this, I'm glad about it too. Thank you."

"You're welcome, son. And I'm here anytime you need to talk." Martha squeezed his hand. "Now go on and see if Cora has finished talking to her father. I'm sure you want to see her."

"I do. Thank you again, Martha." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Really."

"It's my pleasure, Robert."

* * *

"Cora?" Robert stepped into their room, closing the door behind him.

She emerged from the bathroom, wiping her hands on a bath towel. "Yes?"

"You left without saying so. Are you alright?" he asked tentatively, unsure whether to say that he'd talked with her mother or not.

Giving him a smile, she tossed the towel onto a chair. "I'm alright. I had a chat with Daddy."

Robert returned the smile and moved closer to her. "I'm glad you're okay. I was worried."

"Don't worry," she whispered, closing the distance between them and sighing contentedly when he automatically slid his arms around her. "Please, darling. Don't worry."

"I'll try not to. I'll try not to worry about anything except your happiness. How can I make you happier, sweetheart?" His face took on a tender aspect.

"Right now?" She grinned. "Right now you can kiss me. Kiss me, and I'll be completely happy."

"Do you promise me?" he murmured before rubbing his lips lightly against hers and then kissing her intensely.

Cora's hands travelled up his arms and shoulders and up to his face, caressing it. As they broke off the kiss, she nodded, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks. "Yes, I promise. I love you, Robert."

"And I love you, Cora. With my whole heart."

Until the dressing gong, they kissed and cuddled in front of a crackling fire, Robert not pressing for anything more. In fact, Cora marveled at how utterly satisfied he seemed simply to imbibe her kisses, to envelop her in his arms, and to purr endearments into her ear. It had been months since she felt quite so at ease with him, had felt so wholly loved.

It made her happier than she could remember.

* * *

Patrick stopped by Marmaduke and Rosamund's room with them before going on to his own after their walk. Violet sat reading a thick book, concentrating so hard that Patrick's entrance didn't register.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat.

She looked up and plucked the reading glasses from her nose. "Yes?" She waited, but then noticed something. "Why are your hands behind your back?"

Patrick grinned at her. "I was hoping you would ask that. But first, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for 'reeking of whiskey' this morning. I'd rather you had stayed in bed, but I know it's my fault you didn't." His grin had softened into a tender smile.

Violet closed her book and folded her glasses up, putting them aside. "It's alright, Patrick. I think I might have been a bit harsh on you."

He came forward and kissed her cheek, his hands still behind his back. "Are you sure you didn't find charades last night at all humorous?" he murmured.

"I suppose some might have found it so. I wasn't ready for that, though, so, no. I really didn't." Violet watched while her husband walked over to the cd player in their room and put in the disk he'd had behind his back. "Patrick, what is that? What are you doing?"

"Patience, Violet," he chuckled, pointing the remote at the player and pressing play. As the first strains of the song erupted from the speakers, Patrick made his face as serious as possible as he danced toward her and then started singing the lyrics.

He beckoned to her, rotating his hips and using the remote as a microphone. Violet began to laugh in spite of herself. "'Let's Get It On'? Patrick Crawley, how am I supposed to take you a bit seriously?"

"Please, you don't have to take me seriously – just come dance with me." He didn't try to hide his grin anymore.

"Oh, why not?" she said, rolling her eyes but standing and wrapping her arms about his neck while one of his arms encircled her waist. As they moved together, she smiled, finding herself quite warm – and comfortable in a way she hadn't been in a long time. Bringing one of her hands around, she cupped his cheek and sighed happily when he brought his other arm around her, holding her tight to him and continuing to sing the lyrics to her.

Near the end of the song, Patrick gave an exaggerated twist of his hips, making Violet tilt her head back and laugh. He took the chance to nip at her throat gently, then smiled at her affectionately. "Darling, I hope you won't think I'm asking to 'get it on.' I just want to hold you for a little while. Since I didn't get to this morning."

Violet threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and grinned. "I'd like that, Patrick. Very much, in fact." As the next song came on, she began to laugh again. "Who _made_ this cd?"

"Marmaduke made it for me. But all the song requests were mine." He led her around the room, their moves quicker than they'd been before, and the song kept making her laugh. Patrick loved hearing it.

"I'd forgotten you liked this song," she commented, smirking at him.

"John Lee Hooker. And you do knock me off my feet, my dear. Every day. Even when I don't say it."

His wife just smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. They danced together, to songs both slow and fast, until the dinner gong sounded. "Maybe we can continue that later, Patrick." Then Violet pulled him closer and kissed him soundly, leaving him dizzy and wanting more. With a coquettish glance, Violet went to her closet and began to get dressed for dinner.

* * *

Martha and Isidore exchanged a knowing glance with one another when everyone sat down for the evening meal. They felt as if things were going much better at Downton that night. Cora and Robert smiled more, Rosamund and Marmaduke appeared comfortable instead of reserved or defensive, and even Patrick and Violet made eyes at each other a few times.

Isidore chatted with Patrick during dinner, getting the impression that he'd made some progress with Violet. Violet herself made no snide remarks to any of her children, and, surprising everyone, behaved a fair bit above merely civil even to Martha.

But as they gathered for postprandial drinks, Martha and Isidore also realized that there was work still to be done – by the couples present and, probably themselves as well. Martha's instincts told her that there were still storms ahead.

For that evening, however, a calm reigned over the group. As the night went on the men removed to a corner to smoke, and, after a while, Martha came over to join them, taking the pipe Patrick offered. Violet eyed them for a bit, waving abstractedly at Rosamund and Cora's goodnights. The sister-in-laws went upstairs arm in arm, and Violet sighed, feeling slightly ill at the sight of her husband laughing with Martha Levinson. Eventually she, too, went upstairs.

When Patrick finally came in the room, he knelt by the side of the bed where Violet lay curled up under the covers, still awake. "Give me a few moments, darling, and I'll be ready for bed." He smiled at her, and, she had to give him credit: he smelled strongly of his familiar, sweet pipe tobacco, but she could discern barely any trace of Scotch.

She gave him a sort of half-smile. Patrick's fingers grazed her cheek tenderly as he stood again to change into his pajamas. Then, after brushing his teeth, he switched out his light and sought her out under the bedclothes. Once he'd wound his arms around her, he wondered why she seemed so tense.

"Violet? Are you alright? This is okay, isn't it?" he whispered near her ear.

"It's fine, Patrick," she replied. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing herself to remember that afternoon, dancing together. Finally she relaxed and nestled more comfortably against him.

Patrick, feeling this, didn't say a word. He simply leaned up and kissed her cheek before resting his head down on the pillow, grateful to have her where she was supposed to be. "Goodnight, my darling one."

Moving her arms down so they covered his, clasping his hands in hers, Violet sighed. "Goodnight, Patrick."

* * *

"I'm so glad you're still awake." Robert sat on the edge of the bed, Cora sitting up and smiling. He slid his fingers into her hair as he started kissing her.

"So am I," she said between kisses. She ran her hands along his braces – which he wore only because she preferred them.

"Hmmm… you're wearing that new perfume I got you." His other hand came to rest upon her collar bone, fiddling with the shoulder of her nightgown. "You smell wonderful." His tongue flicked over her bottom lip, teasing her.

"I know how much you like it," she murmured, curling her fingers around the braces and pulling him closer.

"Cora, I should go shower; I smell like cigars."

"No, don't go yet. It's not that bad."

He chuckled. "I don't believe you, but I won't protest."

His wife sighed into his mouth when he snaked a hand down to cup her breast through her gown, kneading it and circling his thumb over the nipple. "Robert," she purred, splaying her hands over his chest and kissing him even more deeply.

Robert thought about the various choices that presented themselves to him at that moment. But his mother-in-law's words came back to him in full force: _Don't think about making babies. Make love instead. Show her that at the end of the day, it's her happiness that you want_…. In an instant, he knew what he wanted to do.

When Cora would have started helping him undress, he gently redirected her hands, first helping her lift her nightgown over her head and then having her twist her fingers into his hair. He pressed her back into the pillows, kissing her, his hands making first gentle passes over her torso and arms, then more concentrated ones, in a sort of massage. He reveled in her noises of pleasure, in every trill of delight.

Soon he'd moved lower. But instead of starting where Cora had imagined he would, he continued the massage with her feet, her ankles, working his way up now. He followed every touch of his hands with touches of lips and tongue upon the soft skin of her legs. She gasped at the feel of these upon her inner thighs, then her eyelids fluttered open when he seemed to disappear. In fact, he'd stretched out next to her, leaning down to kiss her mouth again, biting her lip lightly and sliding hands down to fondle her behind and hips.

Robert waited until she wriggled and squirmed, panting heavily. "Please, darling…."

Placing a hand on either side of her head, he looked into her eyes and smiled before kissing her with a passion that left her reeling. Only then did he crawl to the foot of the bed and divest her of her underwear, stroking his fingers along her legs as he did.

Cora thought she couldn't take much more of this waiting, this sweet torture, when, suddenly, Robert's hands slipped beneath her, lifting her hips. He'd built up such a heat between her thighs, that when his tongue began to tease her she nearly jumped out of her skin – not from surprise, so much as the intensity of the sensation it gave. "Oh God," she breathed, rolling her hips involuntarily and clutching at the covers. "Oh God, Robert." She licked her lips and tried to stay still, his fingers digging into her flesh in a most marvelous manner.

And then, once he judged her ready, he let go of her with one hand and pressed two fingers into her, making her gasp sharply and buck her hips. He kept her as steady as he could with his other hand, continuing to stroke her with his fingers. Soon fingers, tongue, and mouth worked in concert until her back was arching. Robert eased the pressure, listening to her sigh and moan. But not long passed before he had her writhing against his hand again.

Many times he brought her to the edge of oblivion, not to tease, but to bring her to a more pleasurable, sustained release. After a while, Cora began to whimper, begging him to let her climax. And he knew it was time. Increasing the pressure of his tongue, he added a third finger to the others. Again, she felt she might fly out of her body, or at least off the bed. She cried out, not bothering to restrain herself in terms of volume – indeed, not even lucid enough to care if she were heard. She continued to let out a series of noises, some sharp, some long and low, all indicative of the extreme ecstasy Robert had evoked.

As for Robert, the sounds she made, the squirming, the way she convulsed around his fingers – all threatened to undo him to the point where he would forget his earlier resolve. But he just managed to hold onto a thread of coherent thought, and he merely slowed his actions while she rode the waves of euphoria he knew engulfed her. He watched her face, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breathing, took in the way her flushed skin glistened and her fingers gradually loosened their grasp of the bedclothes, and he couldn't regret it. Even though his arousal strained against the front of his trousers, and he felt dizzy with need, he scooted up to sit next to her once she'd stilled completely and rested his right hand on the other side of her, leaning down to kiss her.

Cora gazed up at him, a satisfied grin curling her lips and her eyes darkened. She reached up to cup his cheek, her eyelids beginning to droop. "What about you, my love?" she whispered.

He kept himself turned away from her enough so she couldn't see how much he wanted her. "I'm fine, darling. Tuck yourself in whilst I shower away the stench of cigars. I'll be back in just a while, to hold you in your sleep." He smiled at her, running the backs of his fingers gently along the side of her face.

Too sleepy to protest, she nodded, her hand dropping down beside her. Turning off her lamp, Robert helped her under the covers, then pressed a kiss to her temple before he hurried to strip off his clothes and hop in the shower. There he relived her every sigh and moan, along with every other of her delicious reactions to his attentions, until he finally achieved his own release, biting his lip to contain his outcry.

Catching his breath, he bathed as quickly as he could, wanting to wrap his arms around his wife again. He dried himself off and rubbed a towel over his hair. He retrieved a pair of underwear and pajama bottoms, slipping these on before sliding into bed, switching off his light. Sidling up to Cora, Robert settled her into his arms, feathering kisses along her jaw and down her throat. He heard her sigh softly in her sleep.

It was all he needed to hear. Cora was happy; in that moment, Robert could be happy too.


	7. Your mind is not your own

The sun hit Marmaduke's eyes in full force, making him grunt. He glanced sleepily at the clock, wanting nothing more than to lie abed all day with Rosamund nestled in his arms.

Alas, that was not to be.

His eyes snapped open fully. "Bollocks," he muttered, then pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek and ran a hand over her forearm. "Wake up, Rosamund darling."

Groaning, Rosamund turned into his chest to hide her face. "Do we have to?" she grumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Yes, as much as I'd rather not. We're going to be late for breakfast, and today is the day I'm supposed to help distract Patrick so you, Cora, and your mother can get things finalized for his surprise party."

"I'd forgotten about that." Rosamund begrudgingly drew back and sat up in bed, raising her arms up for a stretch and yawning. "My, we are late waking up. We'd better hurry."

Marmaduke watched, frozen, as his wife slid out of bed, lifted her nightgown over her head, and threw it across the room as she walked toward the bathroom. Just as she reached the doorway, she stopped and slipped off her underwear, flicking these across the room as well. Her husband blinked, thunderstruck. It had been over two months since Rosamund had simply stripped off in front of him, and his breath hitched at the sight.

She tossed a look at him over her shoulder. "I suggest you get a move on, Marmaduke. If we both get in the shower, we can be out and downstairs in no time, and no one will be any the wiser. I don't want Mama chewing us out for being late to breakfast."

Nodding dumbly, Marmaduke's gaze followed the roundness of her bare behind and the gentle sway of her hips as she went through the door. Swallowing and blinking again to get his bearings, he got up and went after her, leaving a similar trail of clothes behind him. Her voice and visage held no traces of coyness or mischief, so he did his best to keep his thoughts under control as he stepped into the shower with her and closed the glass door.

For ten minutes, the pair of them went about the business of showering: passing one another soap, shampoo, and taking turns under the spray to rinse off. Rosamund eyed her husband surreptitiously, not having had the pleasure since before his surgery of observing him naked for longer than it took for him to change clothes. Her skin pebbled with goose bumps, even as the water steamed up the shower door. In many ways, she wished he'd forget about breakfast and familial obligation, drop the soap he passed over his body, and press her up against the shower wall, running his hands over her body instead.

Somehow, though, she knew it was wishful thinking and hoped he might attribute the flush that tinged her skin to the heat of the water, rather than to the heat of her fantasy. Even though Marmaduke fussed over her much less since Christmas – being more loving, affectionate, tender, rather than protective – Rosamund still felt as though he waited for something. For what, she didn't know. However, she did know that if he remained mute on the subject, he merely honored her request. For, along with the other, more subtle, changes in the way he treated his wife since Christmas, Marmaduke hadn't urged her to talk about their misfortunes either. While this made her feel somewhat more secure, it also made her wonder what he was thinking.

But not enough to ask him.

Facing away from him to put the bottle of conditioner down, Rosamund almost jumped when Marmaduke rested his hands upon her hips and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then her cheek. She turned her head to look at him, and he said, "I'm going to shave."

"Oh." She closed her eyes and bowed her head as he ran the bristles on his chin gently over her shoulder. "Maybe you could skip shaving? Sometimes I like to see you with a bit of stubble."

A deep chuckle rumbled in her ear. "Do you? Well, in that case, I might do something different with those few extra minutes. What do you think?"

Rosamund sucked in a surprised breath, then endeavored to stay calm. "Depends upon what you had in mind. Were you going to make the bed or …?" She trailed off, his lips suckling her neck proving highly distracting.

"No," he murmured.

Putting pressure upon her hips, he spun her around to face him. Rosamund's hands wound up upon his sides as she steadied herself, not having been ready. He bent his head to kiss her, an earnest, hungry kiss. She didn't have time to think, to realize that she spread the conditioner in her left hand, where it had been waiting to be rubbed into her hair, from his side to his back as her arms wrapped around him, her fingers digging appreciatively into his skin.

The water from the shower washed away the conditioner but couldn't wash away the brand her touch burned into his flesh. Marmaduke raised his hands to thrust them into her auburn curls, weaving his fingers through the fragrant, freshly shampooed locks. The way her palms cupped his behind elicited a moan of longing, and it took everything Marmaduke had in him to end the kiss and step away from her.

"I think that was more than a few minutes," he whispered, withdrawing a hand from her hair to caress her cheek.

Rosamund shut her eyes, unwilling that he should see her reluctance to end there. Her heart pounded and her breath came in short gasps, but she moved her hands so they rested on his sides again and attempted to breathe evenly.

Sweeping his eyes over her one last time, Marmaduke leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then let her go, opened the glass door, and stepped onto the bath mat in search of clean towels. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he'd seen, before her eyelids had fluttered closed, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes and wondered if he shouldn't have stayed in the shower with her. He briefly considered rejoining her, thinking her response had been tantamount to an invitation, but caught sight of the clock in that moment.

"Shit." He grabbed a towel and quickly started drying himself with it, shouting over the running water, "Rosamund, we've got about eight minutes to get downstairs if you don't want that chewing out you mentioned!"

"Don't rush me, Marmaduke!" she yelled, suddenly annoyed at her whole family – and particularly her husband. She applied conditioner to her hair with practiced flicks of her hands, stepping back into the spray to rinse it. Being annoyed with Marmaduke was ridiculous, but she couldn't help it.

Catching the irritation in her tone, Marmaduke sighed. But he put a couple of towels in the chair just outside the shower for her and went into their bedroom to dress.

* * *

"Rosamund, the least you could do is be completely dressed before you come down to breakfast." Violet pursed her lips and raised her brows as her eyes lingered on her daughter's damp hair.

Shooting her mother a venomous glare, Rosamund kept piling her plate with eggs and toast. "I don't see how having wet hair makes me in any way 'undressed', Mama."

"It's my fault, Violet," Marmaduke piped up. "I took too long in the shower, and Rosamund had to rush."

"Nevertheless…." His mother-in-law trailed off, leaving her admonishment at that. She didn't have to say any more.

Rosamund sat, tight-lipped apart from when she opened her mouth to take a bite of her breakfast. Marmaduke reached for her hand under the table, chagrined and concerned when she snatched it away. He suppressed a sigh and bent his head to his own breakfast.

A little ways down the table, Martha and Isidore exchanged worried looks.

* * *

Patrick followed Violet up to their room after breakfast, closing the door behind them.

"You needn't be so hard on Rosamund, Violet," he said softly.

"You always defend her." Violet didn't turn from where she perused a list at her small writing desk in the corner. "She's a lady, and she should act like one."

"Yes, but I get a feeling that something is on her mind, darling. We could try to be more understanding, let a few things slide."

Violet shook her head and then turned it to say, "When you let a few things slide, everything starts to slide. It's like a snowball down a hill, Patrick."

"I still think you could bite your tongue sometimes. It was just us this morning." Patrick dropped to the bed, his eyes fixed onto hers.

She didn't respond, simply pursed her lips again and went back to her list.

"Don't you want to walk into the village with us?" He judged a change of subject to be wise at this juncture. He stood again, retrieving his scarf and gloves from a drawer.

"I have several household matters to take care of, Patrick," she replied. "This is the first day the full staff is back, and I need to go over quite a lot of things with the housekeeper."

Patrick nodded, drawing on the gloves and wrapping the scarf around his neck. "I understand, Violet. Well," he said, letting out a chuckle, "actually I don't understand most of it, which is why I leave it up to your wonderfully clever self." Shrugging on his coat, he went over and kissed her cheek.

Leaning into the kiss, Violet looked at him with a smile. "Why don't you take everyone to that restaurant you enjoy so much in the village for lunch? We'll be busy until mid-afternoon, so you might as well stay and make a day of it."

"Are you sure you don't mind? I know you don't like that restaurant, so it'll be nice to go." He smiled in return.

"No, no, I don't mind. Now, go on, Patrick. I have work to do." She pushed his arm and waved him out the bedroom door, grinning. Once he'd vanished, she sat down at the desk and uncovered a very different list, squinting at it and making notes in a small diary.

She wanted her husband's birthday surprise party to be perfect.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want my help?" Martha reclined on the chaise in her daughter's room, watching Cora scribble on a notepad and Robert scurry around to find a different scarf, the one he'd had downstairs having been chewed to shreds by the puppy.

"Momma, we'll be fine. We have everything well in hand; we planned the party weeks ago. We simply need to get everything set up." Cora lifted her head and smiled at her mother. "Your time would be better spent by making sure you keep Papa in the village for most of the day. Isn't that right, darling?" Her eyes turned to where her husband was bent double over a drawer in her wardrobe.

"Huh?" he grunted, evidently paying no attention to the conversation.

Cora rolled her eyes and laughed, sending a conspiratorial glance to her mother before getting up and placing a hand on Robert's back. "I don't think you'll find _your_ scarf in _my_ underwear drawer."

"What?" He unbent himself and stared at her uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. Then his face cleared, and he grinned at her. "Oh, right. Unless I decide to wear something _very_ unconventional as a scarf."

As her daughter reddened and smirked at Robert, Martha let out a bark of laughter. "Like a thong?"

"Moth-therrrr!" Cora hissed, spinning on her heel in embarrassment.

Martha merely shrugged. Robert laughed as well, remarking, "It wouldn't be very warm, would it?"

"Well, I don't know. Depends upon what thoughts accompany the wearing of this particular 'scarf'." She smirked and the corners of her mouth twitched.

Robert laughed again while Cora approached him, scarf in hand. He hadn't noticed what she'd been doing during the last exchange. "Where did you find it?" Bending his head, he closed his eyes momentarily when Cora's fingers brushed against his neck as she wound the scarf around it.

"Where it was supposed to be, Robert." Her eyes danced with mirth. "With your other outdoor clothing, in the bottom drawer of your bureau." Placing her hands upon his chest, she tilted her smiling face up to his.

Taking this cue, Robert rested his hands atop hers and leaned down to kiss her. Overlooking for a moment that his mother-in-law sat in the room, he lifted a hand to graze his fingers over her jaw and hold her chin as he deepened the kiss.

Martha observed them unabashedly. Indeed, she let a satisfied smile curl upon her lips at the sight before her. Only when all signs pointed to the pair of them completely forgetting her presence and cranking things up a notch or two did Martha clear her throat loudly.

The two broke apart abruptly, Cora blushing and biting her lip, albeit still grinning, and Robert casting an apologetic glance to Martha. "I'm sorry." He fastened his eyes upon his wife. "We get carried away sometimes."

Cora's eyes glittered at him, and he had to tear his gaze away from her. Martha stood. "Oh, you don't have to explain anything to me. And certainly don't apologize, Robert. But the others will be waiting downstairs for us." She turned to her daughter once more. "That is – if you're _sure_ you don't need my help?"

"I'm sure, Momma. Just keep him busy, please." Cora flicked one more glance to her husband, and then went to her mother and kissed her cheek. "Have a good time. Both of you."

Martha got to the door and was about to open it, when she heard Robert whisper behind her, "Don't work too hard, sweetheart. I know what Mama is like, but don't let her wear you out. Alright?"

Glancing back, Martha saw Cora's nod and another brief kiss between them. Averting her eyes forward, Martha smiled and opened the door for her and her son-in-law.

"Things seem better between you two," Martha remarked once they'd gotten down the hallway.

Robert touched the scarf around his neck and turned his head, smiling at her. "They are."

* * *

While Patrick, Robert, Marmaduke, Isidore, and Martha traipsed about the village, visiting shops, making little purchases, and lunching in Patrick's favorite restaurant, the three women worked on the details of his party. It was only two days hence, and there was a lot still to be done. Violet made phone calls, ordered items online, and conferred with the housekeeper and butler about rsvps and how everything would continue to be kept a secret. To Cora and Rosamund fell the onerous task of retrieving the best linens and china from the attic, Violet trusting none of the servants to do this. In fact, she really didn't trust Cora or Rosamund either, but didn't have time to see to it herself.

"Why on earth are the 'best' linens and china kept up here?" Cora asked as she and her sister-in-law picked their way up a little-used staircase in a crumbling wing of the house. "You would think they'd be downstairs, polished and laundered on a regular basis."

Rosamund rolled her eyes. "When Mama says 'best' – at least in this case – she means 'things the guests will never have seen and will therefore either think are new or well-cared-for antiques.'"

"Ah," Cora replied. She tried the door knob to the correct attic room, but it wouldn't open.

"Wait – the housekeeper gave me a key." Rosamund dug into the pocket of her jeans and produced it with a grin. Moving past Cora, she opened the door. "Voila."

The women entered the small room and looked around. Cora wrinkled her nose. "No one ever comes up here, do they? There's dust everywhere."

"Nope. They don't." She glanced around, then pointed. "There. That's where they are," she pronounced, referring to the china and linens.

Prying open the doors to the small cabinet, Cora sneezed when a cloud of dust went up. She peered into the darkened space. "Do you think we can get this all downstairs in one trip?"

"Not a chance," Rosamund snickered. "Do you _know_ how many people are coming to this thing? That's probably at least one _legitimate_ reason Mama wanted this particular set: there are enough place settings."

Cora carefully began to pull dishes out of the cabinet and place them around, so they could see how much there was and how best to carry them downstairs in as few trips as possible. "We should have brought up boxes to put them in. We could carry more that way."

"Mama wouldn't like that."

"Why not? There's no reason we couldn't."

Rosamund shook her head. "Don't expect me to explain whatever passes for logic in my mother's twisted mind."

"It's not twisted, Rosamund. Just – different." She paused, watching the redheaded woman transfer stacks of plates and bowls from the interior of the cabinet to the floor in front of them. In a low voice she asked, "Are you sure you should be doing this, Rosamund?"

Staring at Cora, Rosamund stood stock still and felt blood rush into her face. What had Marmaduke told her? "What's that supposed to mean?"

Cora stared back, wide-eyed, Rosamund's narrowed eyes taking her unawares. "I – I only meant that I know you've been ill several times in the past year or so. I don't want you to overexert yourself unnecessarily. I can always get a footman to help."

Hot anger surged through Rosamund's veins. She knew Cora was only being concerned, considerate, that she didn't know the nature of those "illnesses." But she was tired of people treating her as particularly delicate or in need of coddling. "I'm perfectly capable of carrying some dishes and linens and climbing some stairs, Cora," she spat, her eyes fiery. "I _will_ help with my father's birthday party. And don't mother me. One mother is quite more than enough."

With that, she gathered up a stack of plates in her arms and hastened out the door, leaving Cora gaping and wondering what exactly had just happened.

* * *

Violet, Cora, and Rosamund completed their tasks only half an hour before their wandering family reappeared. Violet's mood had soured even more after speaking with a number of recalcitrant people about a variety of issues surrounding the party. Rosamund refused to speak to Cora the rest of the day, and Cora did her best to keep her hurt feelings to herself – not understanding what she'd done wrong, but not wanting to make anything worse.

Rosamund had gone upstairs, ostensibly to rest, while Cora and Violet awaited the others in the library. Violet watched from a corner of the room, where she'd gone to pour her husband a drink as they entered, and narrowed her eyes. Patrick and Martha stood together, laughing merrily as they started telling Cora about their day. Apparently the two had been nearly inseparable, as far as Violet could discern from their story, and now Martha kept winking at him, rendering him as near to blushing as Violet had seen him in years. Shaking, Violet placed the glass quietly on the cabinet and slipped out the opposite door, ascending the stairs to her room.

After a little while, Patrick looked around. "Where'd Violet go? I have something for her."

Cora turned around, sure she'd seen Violet go to the liquor cabinet. But all that was there was a glass. "I suppose she went up to rest too, Papa."

"Ah – I'm going up to see her." His grin wreathed his face, and he bounded excitedly out of the room.

Stopping in the hall, he picked up the "something" he had for Violet and tripped up the stairs two at a time, humming. He peeked around the door after opening it, grinning at his wife.

"I brought you something, darling," he said, then stepped into the room and held out the bouquet of flowers with a flourish. The bouquet had all Violet's favorites: roses of different hues, calla lilies, and irises. "I missed you very much today, Violet."

"Did you?" she asked somewhat coldly, and his face began to fall. "Where is the bouquet for the Queen of Sheba?"

"The Queen of…." He drew his brows together in confusion. "I don't know – oh. But…." Staring at his wife, he frowned. "Surely you can't think I would want to give Martha flowers."

"Why not?" Violet's shrill voice pierced, cut, tore at him. She stood and crossed her arms. "You're flirting enough with her. You obviously have a crush on her."

"Just a bloody minute, Violet," he said, growing cross. "First of all, _she_ is flirting with _me_ – in all innocence, I might add. She would never be unfaithful to Isidore." At his wife's derisive snort, Patrick let the flowers fall from his hand and onto the bed so he could gesticulate freely. "Second of all, can I help but be flattered by it? It's not as if you have deigned to flirt with me in months."

Violet's mouth dropped open in a rare show of complete astonishment. Not at his words – which were true, if she were honest – but that he'd actually throw them at her.

"Third of all," he said, his voice raised, his breath coming in great bursts, "I really thought you beyond jealousy, Violet. You personally, and you as my wife. Do you think I would ever do anything to hurt you? Do you truly think that a few moments in the thrill of a perfectly innocent flirtation could ever change how utterly besotted I am with you still? I don't have a crush – or anything else – on Martha. She's my friend, and, furthermore, the wife of my good mate and the mother of our son's wife, may I remind you, and nothing else. If I were infatuated with anyone, it would be you, Violet. It _is_ you, in fact. I am head over heels, completely stupid in love with you. I always have been, and I always will be." He spoke in nearly a whisper now, his eyes imploring her to understand, to realize how desperately he felt for her, missed their closeness. "I just wanted to rekindle that. If Martha's presence has taught me to desire anything, or to envy anything of Isidore Levinson's, it's not his wife. It's how unabashedly smitten Martha is with her husband." Patrick shook his head. "That's the whole of it, Violet. I want you. No one else."

Not often did anything bring Violet Crawley to tears. But the speech, paired with how her husband's countenance drooped as he silently made his exit, did just that. She very nearly stopped him, begged him to stay. But she didn't. Because she would have to admit she was wrong. And she hated admitting she was wrong. She walked over to the bed and picked up the bouquet he'd brought her. He'd thought of her while out with the others, had brought her favorite flowers to make her smile. She'd worked all day on his surprise party, to make it perfect. Not just because she was the Countess of Grantham or because she had to be an impeccable hostess. But because she loved him and wanted his birthday party to show that.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, Violet sat on the bed and held the bouquet in her lap, staring at it. She regretted letting him go, regretted it with all her heart.

Yet she couldn't seem to figure out how to get up and go after him.

* * *

Once Patrick left the library, Marmaduke turned to Cora. "And Rosamund?" He could tell something had happened when Cora lowered her eyes and shifted uncomfortably on the settee, even after Robert sat beside her and took her hand.

"Yes, she went upstairs too," she answered in a near whisper.

Everyone looked at her in concern.

"Was she alright?" A note of panic crept into Marmaduke's voice.

Cora shrugged. "Tired, I think."

"Cora, something happened, didn't it?" he asked softly.

She finally lifted her eyes to his. "I said something about her having been ill before. I didn't want her to overdo it; we were carrying a lot of things for the party." Cora sighed. "I don't know what I said, but she got very upset and wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the day."

Marmaduke furrowed his brow. "I'll go talk to her. I'm sorry, Cora." He squeezed her shoulder consolingly.

"It's not your fault." She shrugged again and tightened her hold on Robert's hand.

"Even so…." He sighed and, sending a fleeting glance Martha's way, left the others to seek out his wife. As he climbed the stairs, his steps grew ever heavier. He'd followed Martha's advice, and he hadn't asked Rosamund about talking about what burdened them both. But this latest spat with Cora and Rosamund's current mood made Marmaduke think that he might need to bring it up again. He opened the door, and, without preamble, said, "Rosamund, you can't continue this way. _We_ can't continue this way. I've tried, but Cora is downstairs, almost in tears."

Rosamund twisted around from where she'd been facing the window, cross-legged on the seat. "Stop it, Marmaduke. You're being overly dramatic," she said wearily, shaking her head. "Cora is fine."

"No, I'm not being overly dramatic. And, Cora aside, I can't stand this anymore. You don't tease, you rarely even laugh. And it makes me heartbroken that you can't talk to me, so we can move past this. Because we can't if you keep hanging on to it."

Leaping up from the seat, Rosamund shook a finger under his nose, all of a sudden livid. "Don't you dare tell me what to hold on to and what to let go of. You do not know what I went through. You don't know what it means to me to give up my chances of having your children. So don't you dare, Marmaduke Painswick. Don't. You. Dare."

Marmaduke sighed and backed away, plopping into a chair. "Martha was right."

Sparks flew from Rosamund's eyes. "What was that?"

He sat up straight and cursed his own stupidity at letting that slip. "I – er – nothing."

"No, Marmaduke. That was certainly not 'nothing.' You talked to Martha about this, didn't you?" When he merely continued to gape at her, she shouted, her entire body vibrating with ire, "Didn't you!?"

Finally, he jumped up, his own anger encompassing him. "Yes! I did! I _had _to, Rosamund! It was tearing me up inside! You wouldn't talk to me, and I couldn't tell anyone else. Do you think it just happened to you, huh? Don't you think I feel it too? Don't you think that I am scared, every damn day, that we won't get through this? This did _not_ just happen to you!" He jabbed his hand into his chest, his face red. "It happened to me too! It happened to _us_, and I thought _we_ could get through it – together! But I guess I was wrong, because you just want to wallow in it." He shook his head, his voice running out at the sight of her. At the same time that he wanted to take every word back, he knew they'd needed to be said.

Because nothing else had gotten through.

Tears streamed down Rosamund's face. "Get out!" she bellowed at him. When he didn't move, she took two more steps toward him. "_GET OUT!_" she shrieked.

Letting out a long sigh, he bowed his head, tears escaping his own eyes now. Then, with one last, dejected look at her, he silently did as she wanted.


	8. Closer to the truth

A knock came at Isidore and Martha's door not long before they had meant to go down to dinner. Martha continued to fasten her earrings as Isidore answered it.

"Marmaduke?" Isidore stepped aside in surprise, allowing the younger man to come in.

Martha took one look at his face and shook her head. "You and Rosamund fought, didn't you?"

He nodded, bowing his head with a sigh. "Earlier. I've been hiding in one of the sitting rooms up here since then."

"Do you need to talk?" Martha led him to a chair and deposited him upon it, leaving her hand on his arm.

"I – I don't think I can." His voice broke, and Martha glanced up at Isidore. "And I can't go down to dinner."

After he'd closed the door, Isidore stood there with his hand on the door knob in silence. Now he spoke, tilting his head in inquiry. "Is there something that we can do to help, Marmaduke?"

Swallowing hard, Marmaduke nodded again. "I have a strong suspicion that Rosamund won't go down to dinner either. Can you – might you – tell the others something? Anything? I trust you to come up with the right thing." He raised moist eyes to Martha's face. "And will you make sure, if she isn't there, that some dinner is sent up for her? I don't know if she'll eat it, but I would like it to be sent up all the same."

"Of course we will, Marmaduke. Don't you want something sent up for yourself?" Martha felt awful for the poor man sitting in front of her, knowing what he and Rosamund must have fought about.

"No. I couldn't eat." He blinked back more tears.

Martha sat upon the arm of the chair next to his and bent her head down to look him directly in the eye. "Marmaduke, I want you to stay here while we go down for dinner. Okay? I'll come up as soon as I can. You shouldn't be alone too long, and you may want to talk sooner than you think." She gave him a small smile when he nodded once more, unable to speak.

Once in the hallway, she took Isidore's arm and clutched it to herself. "It's a shit situation they're in, Issi. I won't say anything else about it, but, believe me, I wish I could do more to help them."

"I know, Martha." He looked down into her face as they descended the staircase. "If she's not at dinner, I'll bring the tray up to Rosamund, look in on her, while you talk to Marmaduke."

"Thank you, Issi. That will make me feel better, and I can tell Marmaduke that too." She sighed. "Poor sweet darlings."

"We'll do what we can, Martha." He pressed a kiss to her temple and led her to the drawing room.

Rosamund never appeared for dinner. The lie Martha concocted – and fully expected Violet to rip to shreds – wasn't questioned. In fact, everyone was uncharacteristically quiet. Patrick and Violet didn't look at one another. Cora and Robert seemed wrapped up in their own world, Cora obviously still upset about Rosamund's earlier behavior.

Martha shook her head at Isidore. They'd known this would happen, hadn't they?

After dinner, Martha requested two heaping trays to be prepared. While she and Isidore waited for them, sharing a postprandial drink, she saw Violet slip out of the room. Cora made her excuses not much later, wanting an early night. Her mother heard Cora's whispered encouragement to Robert to stay with Patrick, that he looked as if he needed the company more than she did. With a kiss, she smiled at Robert and said goodnight to the others as she left.

By the time two maids brought the trays to Martha and Isidore, Violet hadn't returned. Martha silently praised her daughter for having the foresight and compassion to have Robert stay with his father. Saying goodnight to the pair, Martha and Isidore went upstairs with the dinner trays, parting at Rosamund's door with a nod and a soft kiss.

With a brief knock on the door, Martha went into her room, balancing the tray carefully as she shut it behind her. Marmaduke's head reposed against the back of the chair; he'd fallen asleep. Martha considered whether or not to wake him, but decided that if he _was_ going to eat, he'd be more likely to do so when the food was still hot. Setting the tray down, she crossed to where he sat and gently shook him.

"Marmaduke, I brought you some dinner. You should eat."

"No, no. I'm not hungry. Did someone take Rosamund something?"

"Yes. Isidore did. He wanted to check on her, too. He still doesn't know, Marmaduke. I didn't tell him. But he can see something is wrong, and he wanted to be there if she needs to talk."

Marmaduke ran his hands over his face, nodding.

"You really should try to eat something. It won't do to starve yourself." She picked up the tray and held it out in front of her with a frown.

"I don't think I can eat, Martha. Not the way things are."

She took a step closer to him with the tray, pursing her lips together and raising her eyebrows, but saying nothing.

Marmaduke stared at her for a few moments, the two at a stalemate, until he had to blink. Had he felt lighter, he would have chuckled at her resolve – her stubbornness. "You aren't going to give in until I accept that tray, are you?" He lifted one of his brows at her.

"Nope." She shook her head and came to stand right in front of him.

"Okay, you win, Martha." He reached up and took the tray. "I think I have a bit more insight into Cora now…." He set the covers to the dishes down on the small table beside him and picked up his fork, knowing Martha watched him like a hawk. Or, really, like a mother.

Pouring him a glass of water from her bedside carafe, Martha added this to the tray across his knees and sat in the chair closest to his. She remained quiet, waiting for him to speak, if he was going to, when he was ready.

After a few bites – having discovered he actually was hungry, despite what he'd thought – Marmaduke wiped his mouth with his napkin and asked, "Do you think she'll speak to Isidore?" He kept his eyes on his tray, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully while he waited for her answer.

"I don't know. As you haven't told me exactly what the fight was about or what was said, there's really no way for me to come up with a reasonable hypothesis."

"She's so hardheaded, Martha. And this has been so hard on her." He set down his fork and sighed. "I tried to make her talk. I was wrong to do it. I should have kept following your advice. We shouted at one another. I can't remember _ever_ shouting at her. But I just had to find a way to make her hear me…." Tears fell into his soup as he picked up the spoon to begin eating it.

"Maybe it is a start. The two of you were always going to need to clear the air somehow. This probably wasn't the way you wanted to do that, but arguing – saying things you thought she needed to hear, in that unvarnished form – is certainly one way to start clearing the air."

"I feel horrible," he muttered, continuing to sip his soup.

"Well, I wouldn't like you half so well, Marmaduke, if you didn't. Shouting at your wife shouldn't make you feel good." She shrugged. "Admittedly, sometimes it's an acceptable form of release, but, on the whole, no. Yelling isn't an effective means of communication."

Marmaduke shook his head and put his spoon on the tray. "I can't eat anymore, Martha. My stomach is in knots."

Martha stood. "I'll wager your mind is too. Isn't it?" She met his eyes as she bent to take the dinner tray from him.

"Yes. Any words of wisdom on how to unknot things? Or at least to forget about it for a while?" He watched her open the door to put the tray on the floor just outside for one of the maids.

Leaning back against the door, Martha shrugged again. "Talking with someone can help. Talking to me, as I already know the situation. But, really, the only thing that will completely help is talking to Rosamund."

"I'm not certain I can talk about it much more than I already have. Not coherently at least."

"Well, then, it seems to me you have two options: sleep –"

"Probably not going to happen again," he interrupted, shaking his head. "Not for a good long while, anyway."

" – or hard liquor," she finished, tilting an eyebrow at him.

"Well," he said, clapping his hands together once, "I suppose I know where I'm headed. You coming along?" He stood up from the chair.

"No, I think I'll stay here, wait for Issi. But do be aware that your brother- and father-in-law are most likely already a few drinks ahead of you. And it doesn't seem as if Patrick had a good afternoon, either; although, I don't think it was quite as awful as yours was."

"I hope not," he said, with a brief shake of his head. "Thanks for making me eat something, Martha. And for being willing to talk again. I do appreciate it." He walked to the door and kissed her cheek.

"You're welcome. You're always welcome, Marmaduke. I do want things to mend between you and Rosamund. And I'll help in any way I can." She stepped aside so he could pass.

"I know." With another thanks, Marmaduke closed the door behind him and made his way to the library.

Martha dropped down in a chair, suddenly exhausted.

* * *

At first Isidore thought he'd have to leave the tray outside of Rosamund's room, since no answer came to his knock. He tried again, and then again, waiting several minutes between each.

Just as he was about to put the tray down and leave, Rosamund appeared at the door. Sympathy and concern rose up in Isidore's chest at the sight of her, her eyes puffy and red from crying, her face tear stained.

He didn't wait for her to speak, simply lifted the tray slightly and said, "I brought you this. And I thought someone should see how you were."

Rosamund said nothing, but moved to one side so Isidore could come over the threshold with the tray. He put it on a side table and turned to face her. She hadn't shut the door.

"How are you?"

She sniffled a bit. "I don't quite know, to be honest, Isidore." She closed her eyes briefly, then, opening them again, said, "I don't really feel like company though."

Nodding, Isidore walked past her as she went to the dinner tray. Once he'd gotten to the door, though, her voice stopped him. "Did he tell you what happened?"

Isidore turned. Rosamund had her back to him, her head bowed low. "No. He didn't. Only that you two had fought. From the looks of him, it was a doozy. He came to Martha and me simply to make sure that we brought you something to eat."

"Yes, that sounds like him," she said softly, still facing away from Isidore.

"Look, Rosamund, I don't know what happened between you two, but if you would like to talk, I hope you know you can come to me – or to Martha – anytime."

"Yes. I know. And I know Marmaduke spoke to Martha already," she said, her tone even.

But he noticed she trembled. "She didn't tell me. Well, she told me he'd confided in her, but she refused to say anything else. He'd told her not to; although she probably wouldn't have told me anyway, since it was told to her in confidence."

Rosamund nodded, Isidore barely able to discern this from the back of her head. He waited, but she didn't say more. He stepped closer to the door.

"I'll leave you, then. Please do eat something, Rosamund."

He'd almost made it out into the hallway when she said in a near whisper, "I could lose him over this. He might leave, and it would be all my fault."

Her trembling became even more noticeable, her voice cracking on the important words. Isidore, still unsure whether she would speak to him about it or not, considered it wise to close the door anyway. "Over what? The argument?"

"The argument, what it was about, all of it." She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, Isidore aware that she was attempting to keep herself from crying again. "He's wanted so long to talk about it with me, but I…. I couldn't. And when he said he'd gone to talk to Martha…." She shook her head vigorously, putting a hand to her mouth. "I just lost it."

Isidore crossed the room to her and lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Might you talk about it now? With me?"

"Okay," she said in a small voice.

He steered her gently to a pair of chairs in the corner. He could tell she wouldn't eat until she'd gotten things off her chest – if she ate at all – so he didn't press her to try. Once they sat, Rosamund took her time getting started. But Isidore merely gave her encouraging looks and words as necessary. She gathered momentum as she became more comfortable telling him, continuing until he'd heard the whole story, including the earlier fight.

"Rosamund dear," he said, handing her his handkerchief for her fresh tears, "that's a lot for any couple to handle. And no one handles it well. No one." He paused, furrowing his brow. "Have you heard of the five stages of grief?"

"Yes, I've heard of them. But I'll confess that I don't know much about them."

Isidore nodded. "Well, you and Marmaduke have been, in some ways, in a perpetual mourning since that first miscarriage. And, although they're called 'stages,' they can be experienced in any order, not everyone goes through all of them, and some people have to go through certain ones more than once or for longer periods of time, moving back and forth among them." He touched her hand and stayed quiet until she met his eyes. "I think that while Marmaduke has been ready to try to move past mourning – which is why he's been attempting to get you to talk, to get you to move past it with him – you've been in the denial stage. You don't want to talk, because talking means you have to face this reality head-on."

"But, I don't understand. I don't deny the loss of our children." She shook her head, staring at him through wet lashes.

"No, I think you've probably gotten to acceptance with that. The reality I see you endeavoring to push away, to deny, though, is the other part of it, and what it could mean for your marriage."

"The part where we can't have children," she whispered.

Isidore slowly nodded. "Yes. You're mourning the loss of any future chance of children, mourning the family you thought you'd be starting with your husband. You haven't told anyone, haven't wanted Marmaduke to tell anyone, because it makes it real, doesn't it? You can't deny it when everyone else knows."

Rosamund clutched at her stomach, her face contorting with sobs, even as she nodded her assent and understanding. "Yes," she finally strangled out.

Isidore moved his hand to pat her back. "I know you're frightened, Rosamund. You said it before, of what you're afraid most, I think: you might lose him. But I think you should consider something."

She'd calmed, her sobs turning into sniffles, and she looked around at him. "What?"

"He volunteered for the vasectomy. He chose to put your health first. Both times: when faced with the possibility of no children and when it came time to decide who would bear the burden of surgery."

Rosamund thought about this, wiping her face with the side of her hand.

"And I've seen him, how he is with you, even how he looks at you, Rosamund. He always puts you first. In my experience, that means that a spouse is doing everything within their power to hold on to the other person."

She met his eyes, taking this in.

"Trust me. He doesn't want to lose you either. And I'll wager that he's just as frightened as you are of that happening."

"That's why he's acted the way he has, tried to get me to talk to him, isn't it?" She couldn't seem to get her voice above a whisper.

Isidore nodded again. "I really think so."

Rosamund turned her head to stare at the floor, and Isidore sat quietly, letting her process what she'd just heard in her own way, in her own time. After a few moments, though, her brows drew together. "May I ask you something, Isidore?"

"Certainly." He could see something else troubled her.

She took a deep breath. "If he's ready to move on, why hasn't he – I mean, why haven't we – what is keeping him from, er –"

Isidore thought he knew what she tried to ask. "I take it that you haven't had sex yet. Since you've both been recovered physically."

Rosamund's eyes flickered to him in a curt nod. "I thought that this morning he might – we might…." She shook her head and closed her eyes. "But no."

"My best guess? Knowing the little I do about Marmaduke? He's waiting for you to initiate it – to tell him, or somehow show him that you're ready. He may have been wanting to talk to you first, waiting for that." He clasped his hands together in his lap, giving Rosamund a tiny smile. "What I can tell you, knowing Martha as _well_ as I do, that she probably told him or encouraged his own inclination to wait until you were ready. As for the talking? She and I both tend to counsel spouses to exercise nonverbal communication when they find themselves faced with partners who don't want to talk. He's probably been telling you things that way. Or at least trying to."

Isidore found it remarkable how her face softened while she pondered this. "I think he has, actually. Been telling me things, I mean. I'm still rather worried though. He fusses over me, and I wonder if he sees me as fragile, breakable, and, despite all you just said, that's the real reason why we haven't had sex."

"Rosamund, please don't take this the wrong way, but haven't you been acting fragile?"

She turned and stared at him, an "oh" escaping her lips. "You're right, Isidore. I have acted that way, haven't I? I suppose that denial stage keeps you from seeing things clearly, doesn't it?"

"Most stages of grief do."

A quiet settled over the room, Rosamund running everything over in her mind. "Isidore?" she murmured. "I was so horrible to him this afternoon. Do you think he'll -?" Her voice caught, her breath hitching at the words she couldn't quite say.

Isidore took one of her hands and pressed it. "No. You won't lose him. It was an argument. Everything built up to where neither of you could hold it back any longer. Now that the dam has broken, perhaps you can move forward. If you're ready, that is."

"I think I might be. At least, to make a start."

"I'm happy to hear that, Rosamund. And I know Marmaduke will be glad to hear it too. You need one another. Neither of you can completely heal without the other."

"He said something like that. That he wanted us to get through this together. He needed me, and I let him down." She lowered her head.

"You can't blame yourself. Like I said before, this is difficult for any couple, and that no one handles it well. You simply have to start from where you are, Rosamund. That's all anyone can do."

She raised her head and nodded, giving him the smallest hint of a smile – but it touched her eyes.

"Now. I think a start includes dinner. It's probably a bit cold, but I'll sit here while you eat, if you'd like."

Rosamund's smile grew slightly. "Yes, Isidore. I'd like that. Thank you." She paused, then added, "For everything."

* * *

Waking with a jerk, Martha glanced at the clock. Isidore hadn't come back from Rosamund's room, and Martha hoped that this meant she had unbent enough to speak to him. But it was getting rather late.

She decided to go and check on the two, hoping that Rosamund had forgiven her for talking to Marmaduke. But as she walked down the hallway, passing Violet and Patrick's room, she heard a rather large crash. Martha paused, listening for any further alarming sounds. Then came a woman's voice in a rather sharp, "Fuck!"

_Did I just hear what I thought I heard?_ Martha wondered. Her eyes widened, and she knocked on the door. "Violet? Is everything alright?"

Violet stood at the open door a moment later, holding a piece of broken glass and swaying slightly. "Do you need something, Marthaaaaa?" The fingers of her left hand had started to bleed where the edges of the glass bit into them.

Leaning forward, Martha sniffed, confirming her impression. "Jesus, Violet, I didn't think I could be this surprised by you. Step back so I can come in."

A wobble attended Violet's steps backwards. Martha closed the door and surveyed the room as she carefully pried the glass from Violet's hand.

"We need to clean these cuts." Taking Violet by the wrist, Martha led her into the bathroom, noting how unsteadily the woman walked. "Sit." She pointed to a chair by the sink. Violet nearly missed it as she sank down upon it.

As much as Martha found the situation humorous, she also realized that something very upsetting had to have happened to bring Violet to this state.

Picking up a washcloth, Martha ran it under warm water, then applied the cloth to Violet's hand.

"Am I injured?" Violet asked, peering down at where Martha attended the cuts.

"Yes. You – rather unwisely – picked up a piece of broken glass."

"That sounds like an outrageously stupid thing to do. Why would I do that?" She clutched at the side of the chair, feeling like she might fall otherwise.

Martha glanced up at her, her brows raised. "I would conclude it's because you're drunk off your ass, Violet, and didn't realize what you were doing."

Violet stared at the blurry woman in front of her. "Ah. Right." She nodded, then stopped, pulling her hand away from Martha to cover her face with a groan. "Why is the room moving? Aren't I sat down?"

This tickled Martha, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "If you don't let me finish with your hand, you're going to get blood on your face." Tugging it away, she shook her head. "In fact, you have." Tutting softly, Martha located a clean spot on the washcloth and wiped the few spots of blood from Violet's face. She did her best not to grin at the situation.

"Why are you biting your lip?" Violet gazed at Martha's face in bleary-eyed fascination.

"I'm trying very hard not to laugh at you," she admitted honestly. She noticed the bleeding had slowed, and the wounds were now clean. "Antibacterial cream? Bandages? Where might I find them?"

Violet screwed up her face. "Um, I think in there." She pointed at the medicine cabinet. She continued to watch as Martha opened the cabinet and located the items. "Why are you helping me?"

Martha looked up from where she was about to apply antibacterial cream to the cuts. "Because you need help." She shrugged and attended to the cuts.

"But," Violet said, screwing up her face as she observed Martha wrap bandages around her fingers, "you don't like me."

With one last pass over the bandages to make sure they were properly affixed, Martha shook her head and stared at Violet. "I never said that." She placed Violet's hand in her lap and glanced around. "You should have some water, aspirin. Wait – I saw some aspirin in here…." Martha opened the medicine cabinet once more, putting the bandages and cream away and twitching out a small bottle of pills.

Her hand lying limply in her lap, Violet continued to gape at Martha with her brows drawn together. "But I'm not nice to you. Ever."

"So? What difference does that make?" Martha shrugged again and filled a glass with cold water. "I'll help you take these." She held two aspirin close to Violet's face. "Open up." Tipping the aspirin into Violet's mouth, Martha put the glass to her lips. "Nod when you're ready." At her nod, Martha tilted the glass so the woman could have enough water to swallow the pills. Then she grinned at Violet. "Besides, I like a challenge, Violet. Which you most definitely are."

"Is that true?" Violet inquired, feeling steady enough to take the glass from Martha and sip the rest of the water.

"Which? That you are a challenge, or that I enjoy one?"

"Either. Both." She put the empty glass down on the side of the sink and rubbed her eyes.

"Yes. Both are true. Although I have a strong feeling that you already know that you're a challenge. Even if you might not admit it." Violet opened her mouth to speak, looking offended, but Martha put up a hand. "Nope. Just leave it there. And I think you should get to bed, Violet." She wrapped her arms around one of Violet's, heaving her up.

Violet groaned, but allowed Martha to help her into the bedroom.

"Which side is yours?" After Violet pointed to the correct side, Martha guided her there and steadied her while she flicked back the covers. Situating her down, she left Violet to stretch herself out and cover herself up. "I would imagine you don't want me to help you undress. And I see you already took off jewelry." Martha bustled around, filling another glass with water and setting it on Violet's night stand. Then she went around to the other side of the room, where glass shards and baby powder covered part of the dressing table and had fallen on the floor. Picking up a trash can, Martha began to deposit the glass into it.

"Don't – Martha, a maid –"

Martha turned and looked at the figure on the bed who stared back at her. "I'm not leaving this for morning, Violet. And do you really want a maid to come up here and see you like this?"

Violet shrank back against the pillows. "I see your point." She closed her eyes with another groan.

After making sure all the glass was gathered and thrown away, the powder cleaned off the table, Martha turned to Violet's desk, picking up the large bottle of vodka. She saw nothing else, not even a glass, on the desk. "Damn, Violet, were you drinking this vodka straight out of the bottle?" She held the bottle up, gaping at Violet.

"You're thinking how pathetic that is, aren't you?"

"Hell, no! I'm impressed," she said, then, in a lower voice, "albeit fairly worried."

"Can you put the bottle away? I don't want Patrick to see it." For the first time since Martha had entered the room, Violet looked truly worried, this unmasked even by her drooping eyelids.

Martha took a guess. "Where do you hide it?"

She was right. "In the back of that wardrobe. Behind my tall boots." Violet waved her injured hand in the direction of the wardrobe.

Nodding, Martha made sure the bottle was securely closed, then hid it away. Then she sat next to where Violet reclined on the bed, facing her. She knew that Violet was probably too drunk to protest this. "Why were you up here drinking like that? That's not like you, is it?"

Violet heaved a deep sigh. "It was just an exhausting day," she mumbled, avoiding Martha's eyes, remembering her argument with Patrick.

"Right," Martha said, realizing that was as much as she'd get from Violet.

Having closed her eyes now, Violet's breathing grew deeper. Before she fell asleep, she murmured, "Patrick? Might you hold me?"

Martha smiled a bit, but wondered even more what had happened, knowing that Patrick, too, had most likely drunk himself into a stupor downstairs.

* * *

At the soft knock, Isidore jumped up from his chair to answer the door. Expecting to see Marmaduke standing on the other side, he furrowed his brow to see Martha there instead.

Nodding toward Rosamund, who had fallen asleep on the bed, Martha asked in a low voice. "How is she?"

Isidore shook his head slightly. "Worried. And more upset and afraid than she would like to let on." Drawing her fully into the room, he closed the door silently behind his wife. He smiled a bit. "And tired. She wanted to wait up for Marmaduke, but she didn't want to wait alone, so she asked me to stay and keep her company." He looked toward her. "She lay on the bed a little while ago, telling me she just needed to close her eyes for a minute."

"Poor thing," Martha remarked. "Marmaduke won't be coming upstairs, though. Not anytime soon."

"Why not?" Isidore fixed her with a perplexed expression.

Martha smiled softly. "I ran into Robert in the hallway a few moments ago. He had finally come upstairs after Patrick went to sleep in his chair. He told me Marmaduke actually fell asleep not long after he got down there. He didn't even make it through one drink."

"Well, I'm glad he's getting some sleep, but I hope Rosamund doesn't misinterpret his absence." He cast another look toward the figure curled on top of the bedclothes.

Noting the shadows under his eyes and the way his shoulders had begun to droop, Martha lifted a hand to his cheek. "Short of going downstairs and waking him, I don't see what else can be done. Besides, sleep will do both of them good. They need clear heads to deal with this. I presume that she did speak with you."

Isidore nodded, putting his hand over hers, caressing it. "You were right: it's a shit situation. But I think Rosamund might be ready to begin dealing with it. And Marmaduke is good for her, to her; he'll be her strength."

Pressing a small kiss to his lips, she smiled at him. "I think she'll find, eventually, that she's got deep reserves of strength as well. Being Violet's daughter, she would have to."

A low chuckle bubbled up from Isidore's throat. "They'll find their way together. I can see the beginnings of healing."

"So can I. Now," she whispered, "I do believe that you look just as tired as I feel. We've done a lot this evening, and we need our sleep too."

"Yes, darling," Isidore intoned, stepping away for a moment to switch out the lights as Martha opened the door. He slipped his hand into hers, allowing her to lead the way back to their own room.

* * *

Cora woke early, the bedroom still rosy-tinted from the sunrise. Stirring slightly, she felt Robert's arm draped over her and turned her head to where he lay next to her on his side. She smiled and nestled closer to him. The scent of his soap and freshly laundered pajamas met her nostrils as she dropped her head down to nuzzle against his chest. She recognized that he'd showered before coming to bed, and a wave of gratitude and love came over her, knowing how late it must have been when he came upstairs, since she hadn't woken when he came into the room or got into bed. Even though he had to have been exhausted, he'd washed away the odor of cigars and pipe tobacco before joining her.

Not wanting to wake him, she simply rested against him, eventually falling back into a comfortable sleep.

A few hours later, Robert woke as well, grinning to see Cora cleaved to him, her face half buried in his pajama shirt – which he'd only worn because of the drop in the temperature the night before. Her warm presence, her fingers curled around his forearm, the gentle rise and fall of her chest against him filled him with a breath-taking sense of contentment, and he wrapped his arm tighter around her.

At this Cora shifted a bit, the rustle of bedclothes accompanying her movements. One of her hands came to rest close to her head on his chest, and Robert bent down to kiss her hair, inhaling the sweet lavender fragrance. A low, involuntary hum of happiness attended his action, and Cora's eyelashes fluttered as she stretched and let out a yawn, the small noise having woken her.

Tilting her head back, she looked up at him, meeting his grin with a wide smile of her own. "Good morning," she whispered.

"Good morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep?" His fingers grazed over her back through her night gown.

"Very well, actually. You?"

"Once I got to bed, quite well." He chuckled. "I'm sure I slept better than either Papa or Marmaduke, as both of them fell asleep downstairs."

"You showered." He nodded, and she added, "For me." At his second nod, she slid up a bit and kissed him, her hand moving to his face. Then she gazed at him, thinking. "Darling," she murmured, unsure about how he might receive what she wanted to ask. "Would you do something else for me?"

Robert unfolded his other arm from where he'd had it beneath his head, under the pillow, and slipped it between her waist and the mattress, his arms meeting behind her and pulling her closer. "What's that?" His eyes glinted at her, his smile firmly affixed.

Cora took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a few seconds before opening them and blurting out, "I want us to have sex in one of the rooms downstairs." Her eyes widened at her own daring.

Drawing back from her slightly, he shook his head in astonishment. "You want us to what?"

Growing red, Cora bit her lip, then said, "Never mind. It – it's just an idea I had."

"Oh no, Cora Crawley. You can't unring that bell." He stared at her, unmoving. Waiting.

She watched him, searching his face. "I thought you might like to take me downstairs and, well…." She paused, brushing her fingers across his cheek and jaw. "And have your way with me…." Her eyes darkened and her voice became breathy as she returned to the fantasies she'd been having over the past day and a half since her father had put the idea in her head. She moved closer to him as she continued, "…against the wall in the drawing room, or on the settee in the library." She observed how Robert continued to stare at her, but his expression became unreadable. Moving closer, she started to place kisses along his neck as she murmured suggestions to him, warming to her theme. "Or perhaps on that soft, soft white rug in the music room…."

Robert's mind reeled, and his eyes closed at her delicate attentions. "Cora, we can't do that."

"Why not?" she breathed, without pausing in her ministrations. "It's our house, isn't it?"

"Yes, but –" His breath caught when she suckled upon his pulse point. "Oh God, Cora." He pressed her closer, but managed to strangle out, "We could get caught. Servants, my parents…." Her low chuckle rang in his ears, and he couldn't help imagining hearing it – and her other equally delightful noises – during the scenarios she'd mentioned.

"Isn't that half the fun? The thrill of that possibility?" she whispered, her words warm upon his ear before she nibbled his earlobe.

His thoughts were being pulled in two directions, but the way Cora had put it – not to mention her accompanying actions – made him seriously consider granting her request. To be honest, it sounded… well, it sounded _hot_. He swallowed hard, his heart thumping against where she'd unbuttoned one of the buttons on his pajama top to slip her hand beneath the fabric and graze her fingers over his chest. "Your arguments are quite persuasive, I'll admit."

"So you'll think about it?" Here she draped her leg over his thigh and pushed her hips up against his. A wicked gleam sparkled in her eyes when she drew back just enough to give him a saucy look, her lips twisting with mirth. "But I think you are already thinking about it." She gave him no time to respond before slipping a hand between them to stroke her fingers over his hardening length.

Her eyebrow waggle on top of everything else drove him mad. Crushing his lips to hers, his arms tightened around her while he rubbed himself against her hand.

"Oh my," she exclaimed with a light laugh once he'd broken the kiss to concentrate on her neck. "Perhaps you'll do this small favor for me after all."

"We really shouldn't, Cora," he murmured into the hollow of her throat.

"I don't see why not," she answered. "How about you think about it some more while I take care of this –" she pressed her palm into his arousal, eliciting a low moan from her husband - "for you."

His breathing became more ragged as she moved away from him in order to push back the covers and press his hips down against the mattress. Accommodating her further, he rolled the rest of the way onto his back as she finished unbuttoning his pajama top and shunting the fabric aside so she could close her lips around one of his nipples. "Bloody hell, Cora, if you can imagine I could think about anything else at this point…." He trailed off, sucking in a deep breath and closing his eyes as she reached a hand under his pajama bottoms and briefs to curl her fingers more intentionally around him.

As Cora brought him into a sweet and blissful oblivion, Robert most certainly wasn't thinking about making babies. But he was, very seriously, thinking about what it would be like to fulfill her every wish or whim in as many rooms as she wanted to downstairs….


	9. Another kiss is all you need

A strange rustling sound roused Violet from slumber. She hadn't slept soundly until the last few hours, so she already felt annoyed at whatever or whomever now woke her. Opening her eyes, she focused them with great difficulty on Patrick, the originator of the noise. He sat in his underwear in a chair outside the bathroom door, rubbing a towel vigorously over his hair.

In a moment, he noticed Violet staring at him. "You're awake," he stated, draping the towel over his bare shoulders.

"Yes. It appears that way." She put her hands on either side of her to hoist herself into a sitting position, her head pounding. As she put weight upon her left hand, a yelp sprang unbidden from her throat.

Patrick got up immediately and went to her side, tossing the towel to the floor. "What happened?"

Levering herself up with her right hand, she scrutinized her left in its bandages, images – of the vodka bottle, the broken glass, Martha Levinson helping her – popping up in her mind. "I broke one of my powder containers and cut myself trying to clean up the glass. I'm fine, Patrick."

He sighed. "If you say so, Violet." Turning away, he went to the closet to pull out clean attire for the day. "We missed breakfast. I don't think you noticed. Are you ill?" He kept his back to her, stepping into trousers.

"No. I'm not ill. I simply didn't sleep well last night." Violet fell silent for a moment, looking down at her hands, tracing a finger over the bandages. "Did you come to bed at all?"

Giving a little cough, somewhat embarrassed, he glanced at her and then back to his clothes, shrugging his arms into a shirt and beginning to button it. "I fell asleep downstairs last night and didn't wake up until about half an hour ago, when I came up here to shower." He nodded toward the open bathroom door without looking up from his buttons.

Violet's insides clenched and churned. Partly from overindulging the night before, but even more because she hated the stilted manner in which he spoke to her, the way she couldn't seem to say what needed to be said, and how he hadn't come to bed. "I see," she said. "I should start my day too. There is a lot to be done." Moving much quicker than she probably should have in her hungover state, Violet positively bounded from the bed and into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her. She didn't want Patrick to see the tears gathering in her eyes.

Patrick stared at the door for a moment, then bowed his head. He finished dressing as quickly as he could and left his wife to her slate of activities.

Standing in the shower, Violet attempted to keep herself from retching. She held her left hand away from her body, intent upon keeping the carefully applied bandages dry. The way she felt, she didn't want to try to duplicate what Martha had done the night before. Her head spun – with dehydration and with many thoughts, none of them pleasant. She wondered if she could manage to get through the rest of the day without seeing anyone. But she knew that was futile. There were meals, tea, and another meeting with the housekeeper to finalize everything for the party tomorrow night. Violet closed her eyes, leaned against the shower wall, and cursed herself for getting so drunk.

And for letting everything get so out of hand with Patrick. She wondered how she could set it to rights again.

* * *

No answer came at Marmaduke's knock on the door to the bedroom he and Rosamund shared. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he entered the room, glancing about. He looked at the bed, where the covers on Rosamund's side were mussed – but no Rosamund. Then, stepping toward the middle of the room, he heard noises from behind the closed bathroom door. He approached this and knocked tentatively.

"Rosamund? It – it's Marmaduke."

He heard a faint lapping of water, then, after a handful of seconds, "You can come in, Marmaduke."

Doing as she bid, Marmaduke stood awkwardly just inside the room, looking at her. She reclined in a scented bubble bath, a towel rolled under her neck, her arms lying along the sides of the tub.

Rosamund pointed to a chair near her. "Will you sit with me?"

Giving her a half smile, still unsure of everything, he nodded and sat down, simply gazing at her. He wanted to apologize, to ask her forgiveness for his behavior the afternoon before, but his voice stuck in his throat.

For several minutes – minutes that seemed like hours to both of them – they sat in uncomfortable silence, Rosamund keenly aware of Marmaduke's eyes on her face, but unable to meet them. Then Marmaduke remembered some of the words Martha had spoken to him several days before. Leaning forward, he slipped his hands around the one of Rosamund's closest to him and kissed the back of it, determined to tell her, somehow, where his heart lie.

Rosamund's eyes moved to his face when she felt him touch her hand. The way his fingers caressed hers and how even the smallest brush of his lips venerated her skin broke her down completely. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat up and scooted over to him, not minding the sloshing of water or the towel falling into the tub with her. Her arms wound around his neck, her face burrowing into the suit jacket he wore from the previous day.

His breath hitching, Marmaduke slid from the chair, Rosamund's arms still wrapped about him, and knelt upon the floor next to the bathtub. He reciprocated, embracing her over the edge of the tub, unmindful of the water or soap clinging to him. Because Rosamund clinging to him was the only important thing.

She let out a sob as she tried to speak, gulping for air. "I'm so sorry, Marmaduke," she finally got out. "I'm so, so very sorry."

Marmaduke felt warm wetness on his own face, but not from Rosamund or her bath. His tears slid down into her hair, dropping onto her shoulders. "Shhhh, my darling," he soothed her. "It's not your fault. If anyone should apologize, it should be me. I never meant to shout at you that way."

Rosamund drew back from him enough to look into his eyes, her arms still loosely about his neck. A thumb ruffled his hair absentmindedly as she shook her head and inhaled deeply. "You never would have if I hadn't been so damned stubborn," she insisted in a whisper. "I should have talked, should have let you talk. We needed that."

"You weren't ready yet. I knew that, and I still pressed you."

Blinking her eyes against more tears, Rosamund shrugged slightly and gave him a wry smile, her voice still incapable of rising above a whisper. "But I'm ready now. I think that fight, although unpleasant, might have been useful."

Marmaduke couldn't suppress a grin. "You sound like Martha."

Her expression became even more serious. "I am glad you went to her, spoke to her. I was mad at you for it – at first. But I truly am glad of it now."

He nodded. "And did you talk to Isidore?"

"I did." She twisted her fingers fully into his hair. "I hadn't realized how much I needed to talk to someone. And how much I needed to talk about it with you. That's why I'm so very sorry." She shook her head and looked at him hopefully.

"I know. I'm sorry too. For all of it." Marmaduke brought his hands from around her and cupped her face between them. "I love you, Rosamund, with my whole heart." His mind flashed back again to that conversation with Martha, to one question she'd asked him in particular. It was time to tell Rosamund what he'd told Martha. "You are everything to me, and we are enough. You are all the family I need, no matter what else happens."

Rosamund blinked fiercely against tears, a smile slowly curling her lips. "I love you too, you devil," she murmured before pulling him toward her and kissing him soundly.

The sound of his old, familiar, teasing nickname echoed sweetly in his ears. He grinned against her lips and ran his thumbs gently over her cheeks as he deepened the kiss. Remembering yesterday in the shower, he wondered if…. But he would let her decide.

While he began trailing his kisses down her throat, she murmured, "Marmaduke, please. I've missed you."

He raised his head and gazed at her steadily. At her smile and nod, he stood, reached down into the bathtub, and scooped her into his arms, pleased at her shriek of delight. He deposited her on the bed and swept his eyes over her, already quite warm and feeling himself respond. Tugging off his tie, he dropped this to the floor, not caring where it landed, not wanting to take his eyes from his wife's enticing nakedness or how her fingers glided over her hip and thigh, which were still beaded with water, toying with him. He stripped off his jacket and tossed this to the floor as well, climbing onto the bed next to her. Smiling down into her face, he started with soft kisses and gentle passes over her skin. He knew he held himself back, wanting so much to show her tenderness and respect, even as she drove him nearly wild with the scent and velvet of her skin, the remembered intensity of her touches.

Not much time passed before Rosamund surprised him by pushing against his chest, her fingers splayed over his shirt.

"Rosamund," he exclaimed in some alarm. "Isn't this what you wanted? I thought –"

"I think you need a shower," she interrupted in a husky voice, her hands moving around behind him.

He drew his brows together. "I know I spent the night in a chair and probably smell of cigar and pipe smoke, but is it that bad?"

"I believe you misunderstand me." She raised an eyebrow and bent close to him, her lips nearly touching his ear. "I think _we_ should get into the shower. Together." She punctuated the statement with a squeeze to his buttocks.

Letting out a slight moan and briefly closing his eyes, seconds later he looked at her, concern writ on his face. "But, darling, you've been through so much. I don't want you to overdo," he explained softly.

"Marmaduke, I'm not breakable. I'm not delicate or fragile. I know I've been acting that way, but I'm tired of being treated as such. So, please, let's just make love as we always used to – with whatever fancy takes hold of us." Rosamund shifted one of her hands from the back of his trousers and to his face, gazing at him in earnest. "And my fancy – right now – is what I imagined when we were in the shower yesterday." Curling her arm around his head so her hand rested on top of it and stroked his hair, she pressed her lips to his ear again and said in a low, breathy voice, "That you would run your hands all over my body, push me up against the shower wall, and do all those lovely things you do to me, to turn me inside out as only you can…."

"God, Rosamund," he murmured, her words having produced an acute reaction below his waist and his breathing becoming heavier, "are you sure?"

"Yesssss," she hissed in his ear, digging her fingers into his buttock and chuckling when he gasped.

"Well, since you put it that way…." He rolled away from her and stood, his fingers fumbling ineffectually with his shirt buttons. He couldn't help exclaiming in frustration, "Hell, woman, you've gotten me in quite a state!"

"Let me help," she purred, crawling off the bed and standing before him. She made quick work of his shirt buttons and slid the fabric down his shoulders, her eyes meeting his with all sorts of mischief in them.

Marmaduke grinned, taking her chin in his hand and bending to crush his mouth to hers as her deft fingers unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. His own fingers loosened the hair she'd had tied back for her bath, then wove through the slightly damp coils. When she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his shorts, the backs of them grazing his skin as she lowered them down over his hips and straining arousal, he sighed into her mouth. Stepping out of his shorts and trousers, he pulled her closer, his tongue teasing hers while his hand released her chin, skimming over her throat and her shoulder to her back, all the way down to squeeze her behind as she had his.

Rosamund groaned and prompted him, her hands pressing into his chest, to start walking backward – carefully, so as to not trip over his own clothes – toward the bathroom. Once they reached it, she broke the kiss, smiling at him tenderly. "Thank you," she whispered, tears shining in her eyes.

Moving his arm up to encircle her waist, his fingers still threading gently through her hair, he returned the smile. "What for, love?"

"For letting us be as we've always been before – letting me be the wife I've always been to you – even if we still have a long way to go to figure things out." She slid a hand up to caress the nape of his neck.

"And we will. But for now – we're here together." Marmaduke kissed her with both sweetness and earnestness, and Rosamund was left breathless by the time he ended it. He stepped back and took her hand, opening the shower door and leading her in.

Rosamund turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature as Marmaduke slid the glass door closed. Stepping backwards into the spray, she grabbed his hand and tugged, coaxing him to join her. They kissed and laughed and ran their hands over one another's bodies, teasing and toying with each other, making every sensation, every loving touch, every alluring gesture and look last as long as possible, having gone so many weeks without – having had so many weeks and months of nearly uninterrupted sadness and pain instead.

Suddenly seized by an utter, earnest aching to feel whole again, Rosamund leapt up into Marmaduke's arms, wrapping arms and legs around him, her dripping, red tresses falling upon his shoulders. Marmaduke, taken aback, clutched her to him and restored his balance, grateful for the non-slip floor of the shower as she resumed her heated kisses. "Mmmm," he hummed between kisses, kneading her bottom with long, experienced fingers. "Does this mean you're ready for me?"

His chuckle tickled her, and she moved her lips to the expanse of scruffy skin directly in front of his ear. "Why don't you see for yourself?" Her own musical chuckle merged with his before she added, "My sweet devil," and nipped at his ear.

This elicited a growl from her husband, who leaned back to gaze at her, watching her face while he slid his hand beneath her and slipped one of those long fingers inside her, then a second. "Oh yes," he said, pressing a kiss to her chin when she tipped her head back, her eyes closing. "Very ready."

Rosamund squirmed a bit, panting. "Then stop toying with me."

As she wriggled around his fingers, she kept brushing against his arousal, and Marmaduke grunted. "You started it, you wicked creature," he breathed, dipping his head to nibble along the length of her throat.

"Marmaduke," she whispered, her sense of urgency increasing with every touch. "Please."

Her accompanying whimper and sigh caught at his heart, and he lifted his head to look at her again. Nodding once, he silently walked them over to one of the shower walls, only taking his eyes from her face to make sure of his footing and that he wouldn't be pressing her up against any jutting parts of the shower.

Once Marmaduke had situated the pair of them to his satisfaction, he locked eyes with his wife, giving her a tender smile as he brought one hand up to caress her face, his other arm supporting her against the wall. Rosamund returned his intense gaze, the fingers of one hand twisted into his hair and the palm of the other over his heart. Having gotten to this juncture, each knew words would be superfluous.

Gliding his hand down the smoothness of her skin, over a pert nipple and delicate ribcage, the inward curve of her waist and outward curve of her hip – attended by Rosamund's deep purr – Marmaduke finally guided himself into her, moaning in delight. Rosamund's eyes widened and darkened, and she made a determined effort to keep them upon her husband's as he began moving against her. Soon, cautious, measured strokes became heated, rapid thrusts, and Rosamund couldn't help closing her eyes when she cried out, tilting her head back and grasping onto his hair.

If she caused him any pain, he didn't let on, merely bent his head to suckle along her throat while her inner walls contracted around him. When Rosamund could focus her eyes, she looked down into his face again, loosening her grip on his hair and winding her fingers gently through it, as if in contrition for the possibility of hurting him. Having slowed his motions for her climax, Marmaduke took this as a cue to pick up the tempo and gripped her buttocks firmly to press her even more adamantly against the wall. He felt her legs tighten around his waist, and he let out a prolonged moan of both satisfaction and heightened desire.

Rosamund knew that when he finally tore his eyes reluctantly from hers and burrowed his face into the hollow of her neck, his breath hot against her flushed skin, that he wouldn't be much longer in following her. She also knew that he wouldn't want to unless she had at least one more climax. So she kept threading her fingers through his hair and bent her head close to his ear, murmuring, "It's alright. We can do it again this afternoon, if you like. Let go, my love. It's your turn. Let go."

At the press of her lips, soft and tender upon his temple, and the flick of her fingers over one of his nipples, Marmaduke groaned. Inhaling her intoxicating scent as he nuzzled his head farther into her clavicle, he pushed her up against the wall one last time and let out a sigh, long and low. Breathing heavily, he still managed to feather kisses along Rosamund's shoulder and throat, his arms winding tightly about her waist and keeping her carefully balanced upon his hips as she continued to recline back against the wall.

"And to think that I nearly forgot how incredible it feels to have you inside me, your arms around me so desperately…," she purred, her lips against his hair.

Marmaduke raised his head and smiled. "I will make sure you never get even close to forgetting ever again, Rosamund." He kissed her tenderly before repeating, "Ever."

* * *

"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that, were you, Isidore?"

The Levinsons walked up to their room, arm in arm. The breakfast table had been completely deserted, save themselves. Isidore chuckled. "No, I wasn't. I do hope at least part of the reason were couples, er, coupling." He winked at Martha, his mustache twitching.

She laughed and preceded him into their room. Once he'd shut the door, Martha reached up and linked her arms together behind his neck. "That would be lovely."

"What – if they were, or if we were to?" He smirked and settled his hands on her arms, rubbing them with his thumbs.

"Both."

Isidore let out another rich chuckle, his eyes crinkling as he grinned wider. He bent his head to give her a kiss, but then became oddly solemn.

"Iss? What's wrong?"

Squeezing her arms a bit, he shook his head and sighed. "I know one couple who are definitely still at odds."

Martha nodded. "I know." She remembered how plastered Violet had been the night before, knew that something significant had to have happened for her to let herself get that way.

"Patrick was still asleep in his chair when I checked the library before breakfast." Isidore bowed his head, his brows drawn together.

"What is it, Issi? And at least Marmaduke wasn't still there, right?" she pointed out.

"No. He wasn't. And I'm happy for that at least. But Patrick was muttering in his sleep. Something about Violet being jealous? I didn't stay very long; I didn't think he'd want me to wake him. But, honestly Martha, he must have been dreaming, right? Because can you imagine Violet being the jealous type? And, hell, who on earth would she have to be jealous of? He absolutely adores her." Isidore shook his head again, unable to piece it together.

Martha dragged her fingernails lazily through Isidore's hair, attempting to soothe him. "Try not to worry about it, Issi. We'll help them if we can. And we _are_ good at what we do, remember."

Eyes lifting to meet hers again, Isidore smiled and nodded. "Yes, we are. I just hate seeing them this way."

"We'll have those two 'coupling' in no time. Mark my words, Isidore Levinson."

A curt nod and grin punctuated the statement before Isidore found her too adorable to resist anymore and leaned down to kiss her.

* * *

Lunch was a strange affair. Marmaduke and Rosamund elected to spend the meal in their room, having trays brought up. Robert and Cora appeared to have a difficult time paying attention to anyone or anything outside of themselves. Which Martha thought might have been a blessing for the pair; it spared them from the strained atmosphere that cloaked the rest of them. Patrick and Violet ate in silence, and, in their evident need to avoid one another's eyes, looked at no one.

Martha and Isidore exchanged glances, shaking their heads and suppressing deep sighs. Once Patrick stood, muttering an excuse, Martha shot a look at Isidore, jerking her head toward the leaving man. Nodding, Isidore got up and followed Patrick out, intent on at least keeping his friend occupied, if he couldn't cheer him or help solve his problems.

Violet's eyes trailed after them. Not much time passed before she gave a polite cough, wiped her mouth delicately, and mumbled, "I have things to do. If you'll excuse me…."

Watching her exit, Martha shrugged. After she finished her meal, she took her leave of Cora and Robert, who probably hadn't really noticed that she was the only one left, and went upstairs to telephone Harold.

* * *

"It looks like we'll have an afternoon to ourselves, Robert." Cora took his hand and pulled on it so he'd stand. "Shall we go curl up in front of the fire in the library if no one is in there? You can read to me." She smiled at him, leading him out of the room and down the hallway.

"Anything I want?" He beamed.

"Yes, darling. Anything you want."

"I'm beginning to think that it's _my_ birthday week and not Papa's." He chuckled and peered into the library with her. "Empty." He grinned even wider.

"Perfect."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, then let it go as she closed the door behind them. "You get comfortable whilst I find the book."

Cora gave him a playful pat on the behind as she passed him, smirking. Then she grabbed a few blankets off the settees and arranged them on the floor in front of the fireplace. Kicking off her shoes, she sat down and turned with a smile, waiting for Robert.

With a little shout of joy, Robert held up the book and crossed the room in a hurry, making Cora laugh. "You're just like a little boy sometimes, Robert. Excited by the smallest things."

He dropped down beside her and grinned, putting the book down and unlacing his shoes. "I would hope it's a trait you enjoy, my dear."

"Oh, don't worry. I do."

They leaned back against one of the settees, getting comfortable; Robert's arm stole around her shoulders, and Cora nestled against him as he used one hand to open the book to the place from which he meant to read. Wordsworth. Cora smiled and closed her eyes, listening to rise and fall of his voice, the lyrical beauty of it as it rung in her ears. She loved how his tongued caressed each word, every syllable dancing off his lips and onto the air. That which had been mere words sprang from the page and into his heart, his own lungs and emotions turning them into vibrant, living things in front of her.

She opened her eyes and tilted her head up enough to watch him read. He had one knee bent in front of him, resting the book upon it almost like a podium. Every so often, his fingers would flick a page over, in a practiced motion, the book held steady with the heel of his hand. His eyes moved over the page with a quiet intensity, his lips turning up in a grin whenever he read any bit that particularly struck him. She noticed that a press of his hand on her shoulder always accompanied this, as if he wanted to convey to her exactly which parts she should drink in most carefully. And she realized that these parts were always the ones meant for her.

Even as Cora realized this, she found her concentration shifting from the actual words to the sound of his voice, the flutter of his eyelashes, the soft play of the firelight and afternoon sun upon his face, and the faint scent of his cologne. Her heart started pounding faster, her thoughts returning unbidden to that morning. Part of her wanted to stay just as they were, comfortable and relaxed, his lilting voice enchanting her. But part of her…. It became more difficult to remain still as she continued to watch him.

Without warning, Robert, in the middle of an especially beautiful stanza, felt Cora shift next to him, and then her hand flitted to his neck while she raised herself up on her knees and captured his lips between hers. Caught unawares this way, Robert clutched onto the book with the one hand and slipped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer, her kiss giving him a heady sense of urgency. When his hand dropped, still holding the book, he let his leg drop as well, needing to sit up more to meet her in earnest. It was just as well that he did, for Cora twisted her body in order to perch on his lap, her hands running up and down his face.

Finally letting go of the book, Robert brushed Cora's hair back from her shoulder so he could attach his lips to her throat, earning him a sigh and subsequent delighted hum. She kept this going and twisted the fingers of one hand into his hair, while the other strayed down to rub his arm and chest. Just as Robert was about to suggest they go upstairs, he felt Cora's fingers leave his hair, and her hands stray down even farther, beginning to fumble with his trouser buttons.

Robert, raising his head from her neck, put a somewhat reluctant, but firm, hand atop hers, stilling her nimble fingers. Cora turned her eyes to his, her expression unfathomable, her mouth being a narrow line and her eyes almost sad. "Look," he began in a low voice, "I know you want to have us live out this fantasy of yours, but, as much as I'm comfortable with a bit of snogging in front of the fire, and as persuasive as your arguments from this morning were, I still don't think it's a good idea." She didn't speak, so he went on softly, "Can't we take this upstairs? I don't want to stop, but I just can't condone continuing in the library, in the middle of the afternoon, when anyone could walk in."

Without a word, Cora stood up and went to the far end of the settee they'd been leaning against, sinking down upon it and turning away from him, her head bowed.

Startled by her reaction, Robert got up and sat next to her. "Cora?" He attempted to get her to look at him, but she refused. "Darling, please. I don't understand."

"No, you wouldn't," she whispered, her voice somewhat strangled, but her tone resigned.

Robert's brow furrowed, and he knelt down in front of her, momentarily stunned to see tears dropping from her chin and into her lap. Taking one of her hands – relieved that at least she didn't pull it away – he gazed up into her face. "Cora, sweetheart, why are you crying? Tell me, please."

"It's ridiculous," she said with a sigh. "And, you were right, you wouldn't understand. Not really."

Oh, how he wanted to understand. He hated seeing her cry. Touching her cheek, he wiped her tears with his thumb. "Couldn't you try me? Don't you trust me?"

She finally lifted her eyes to his face. "I do trust you. But you simply wouldn't understand." She shook her head. "I'll find another way to feel at home," she whispered.

"What –" but she kept shaking her head. Baffled, the creases in his brow deepened. "I wish you would tell me, but I suppose you won't." He sighed as she closed her eyes. "But I can see that for some reason this is important to you. Isn't it? It's not just some fantasy, is it?"

Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes and shook her head again. "No. It's not. But if I explain it, you'll think me foolish."

Robert squeezed her hand, completely bewildered still, but his face softened as he whispered to her, "No, I don't think I would. Perhaps you'll put your faith in me later, and tell me why it's so important to you that we do this. But, for now, let me put faith in you, that your reasons are anything other than foolish. If it's that important to you, then I'll risk getting caught."

"You – you will?" she asked, as if she didn't quite believe her ears. She sniffled, and her eyes took on a hopeful aspect.

He grazed his fingers over her face with a small smile. "Of course I will. I love you, and I want you to be happy. I'll do anything you need to make sure you are."

"Oh, Robert." Cora lunged forward and hugged him, her arms tight around his neck. "Thank you."

"Besides," he added, "it sounds hot."

Drawing back, she smacked his arm, but giggled as well, her reddening cheeks still tear-stained, a contrast to her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He smirked at her. "It was you letting me in on every sultry detail this morning! Wasn't that the point? To make me think it was hot?"

"Yes," she admitted, unable to quit giggling.

"Come here, you," he chuckled, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her onto the floor with him, where he began tickling her.

"No, no, stop!" she shrieked through her laughter.

Robert laughed along with her, his fingers seeking out all her sensitive spots, his mind beginning to wander to when he'd be doing the same thing for a far less innocuous reason than tickling. "Why should I? You started it!"

A different kind of tears squeezed out of her closed eyes as she curled up, ineffectually trying to push his hands away. She knew she'd begin to hiccup soon. "Robert, I can't breathe!" she laughed.

After another minute of tickling her, Robert relented, watching her stretch out next to him on the floor and catch her breath. He grinned down into her face, happy to see her return smile. "Well, we can't have that. Not when there are far better ways to render you breathless." He crawled back to their nest of blankets in front of the fire and crooked his finger at her once she'd sat up to see what he was doing.

Following suit, she crawled – if in a much more sensual manner – to him on hands and knees, and, stopping in front of him with a smirk, leaned forward to kiss him, letting out a satisfied hum when he enfolded her in his arms and tipped them over onto their sides.

This time, Robert did nothing to stop her when she moved her hands down to unfasten his trousers.

* * *

Violet shuffled the papers on her desk in the drawing room, her brow wrinkling when she couldn't find what she was looking for. She sat a moment, thinking about where she could have put a particular document, then brightened when she remembered she'd left it on Patrick's desk in the library.

Getting up, she swept down the hall and into the library, wondering why the butler had left the door closed. She sauntered to the desk, her footsteps muted on the thick carpet. Locating what she needed, she turned to go, then stopped short. A pile of blankets in front of the fireplace moved in a most suspicious way.

A low moan and answering gasp confirmed what had started to dawn on her as she stood there, frozen. Her eyes widened as she watched the blanket rise and fall and a series of grunts met her ears.

"Just what in the hell is going on in here?!" Violet's voice reached a pitch even she didn't often employ.

The blankets froze now as well. Violet heard a distinctive "shit" in a male voice, but it sounded more amused than panicked. Then came a giggle.

When nothing else happened, Violet put her hands on her hips and belted out, "Well?"

"She won't go away," she heard the male voice whisper.

"Well then…." The soft American tones gave her away as Cora.

Violet's mind reeled. _Oh lord, no,_ she thought. _I did not want to see this._

But before she could retreat, Cora's fingers hooked around the edge of the blanket and drew it down, disclosing her and Robert's heads, his above hers, their faces bright red from both their exertions and their embarrassment at getting caught.

"Good afternoon, Mama," Robert said, his voice even, although the look on his mother's face seemed to affect him enough to look sheepish.

Cora, on the other hand, couldn't stop giggling, and bent her head up to bury her face in Robert's neck, endeavoring to stifle them.

Violet drew herself up, straightening her back and doing her best to hide her astonishment – and her own mortification at finding them his way. _At least they'd the decency to cover themselves up_, she thought. "I cannot even begin to express how inappropriate this is. I suppose I expected this of you, Cora, but, Robert, you know better."

This scolding, instead of making them ashamed, appeared to have a different outcome. Cora began giggling afresh, and the corners of Robert's mouth twitched. "My apologies, Mama. We'll finish as soon as possible."

This caused Cora to snort and then begin gasping for air, her fingers curling around his shirt collar and gripping it tightly. The blankets moved again, shaking as Cora shook with her chortles.

Horror-struck at the allusion her son had made, Violet's mouth gaped open. She stared at them for about half a minute before she turned on her heel and nearly ran out the door, pulling it shut behind her.

Robert's eye followed her out the door, then he looked down at his wife, who had finally begun calming herself. "Alright, darling?" He grinned.

"Me? I'm just peachy. You were the one afraid of being interrupted." She let out a few more giggles.

"Well, it wasn't as bad as I thought." He chuckled, sliding his arms more securely underneath her, then dipped his head down to kiss her. "Besides," he whispered seriously once he'd lifted his head again, "it's our house too, isn't it?"

He hadn't expected this to bring tears to her eyes. But she smiled lovingly and nodded. "Yes. It's our house too. Our home." She stroked his cheeks with the backs of her fingers. "Now," she whispered, "where were we?"

Robert smirked, moving slightly above her to remind her, grateful that the disturbance hadn't proven a more significant disruption.

"Oh yes," she sighed, closing her eyes briefly while she licked her lips. "And, Robert?"

"Yes, sweetheart," he murmured, already lowering his head to nibble her earlobe.

She took a firmer grasp upon his face and gently lifted his head to meet his eyes. "Don't you dare finish as soon as possible." She raised her eyebrows.

His smile crinkled even the corners of his eyes. "Oh, don't worry. I won't." As she smiled up at him, he bent his head to her ear again, whispering, "I want to keep rendering you breathless as many times as I conceivably can."

Cora gasped and wound her arms around his neck as he nibbled at her throat and began moving between her legs again. She closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure. She felt at home. At home in Downton, just as she had always felt at home in his arms.


	10. A one-track mind, you can't be saved

Christmas decorations and white twinkle lights still festooned the main rooms of Downton. For the past several years, Violet generally allowed these to be left up through New Year's Day, at the behest of her daughter-in-law. Violet made this one small concession to Cora, little else about their holiday traditions having changed since the American woman's arrival.

For the most part, a festive air had prevailed during their dinner hours, the holiday decorations an appropriate backdrop for couples apparently in the mood for celebration. Violet watched as Robert carefully opened a bottle of champagne and poured it into glasses for everyone. What they might be celebrating, Violet really didn't know. Her son had ordered the bottle be brought up after dinner, ostensibly to toast the eve of Patrick's birthday.

Patrick himself, however, contributed little to the merry-making. He took the glass offered him with a sigh and grumble of thanks, and sank back into his chair, his eyes on the floor. The Levinsons shared a concerned look, Violet noted, but the children barely spared a glance for their father. Before dinner Violet had seen Rosamund take Cora aside, where the two spoke quietly, and, obvious to Violet from their grins and the hug they shared before rejoining the others, made up for the previous day. Their reconciliation immediately lightened the atmosphere in the entire room and set the stage for a convivial evening.

Almost.

Her husband's palpable preoccupation and gloom affected Violet more than she would want to admit – even to herself. All through preprandial drinks and dinner, she'd been uncharacteristically close-lipped, vacillating between a disheartened heaviness and a seething indignation, depending upon where her eyes happened to land. The offence of Robert and Cora's afternoon dalliance irked Violet far more than it normally would have, given that all she could think about was how much she would like to have Patrick suggest they do that very thing. Not that she would say yes, of course. She merely wanted them to be in a place where that might even be a teasing proposal – preferably one whispered in her ear when they already found themselves in a compromising position….

In her solitary corner of the library, Violet swallowed hard and closed her eyes, fighting back the image that rose to her mind unbidden once again. She lifted her right hand from where her arms rested across her chest and placed it on her throat, suddenly much too warm.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Violet jumped, her eyes popping open, startled to see Martha appear at her elbow. The American redhead held out a glass of champagne. Accepting it grudgingly, Violet frowned and snapped out, "What use is a penny to me? And, actually, from what I understand, it's the smallest bit of your American currency. So I'm not sure what use it would be to you either."

Taking a long sip of her champagne, Martha rolled her eyes. "It's a saying, Violet. And I'm fairly certain you knew that. You just wanted to say something nasty to me. Oh well."

"I don't think I said anything 'nasty.'" Violet had a drink of the bubbling beverage and shifted uncomfortably, scowling at the carpet. In reality, she felt grateful for the interruption to her rather painful thoughts.

"Well, it wasn't very nice." Martha leaned closer to Violet, saying in a conspiratorial tone, "Of course, it appeared to me I might need to offer you a larger sum, anyway, the way you were blushing."

Violet's eyes flicked up to Martha's impish grin. "I was _not_ blushing," Violet hissed.

Martha chuckled. "I think she doth protest too much." She tapped a pad of her finger upon her glass and raised her eyebrows.

"And stop butchering Shakespeare," Violet snarled before tipping a good portion of champagne down her throat.

"My, aren't we surlier than usual tonight?" Martha clucked her tongue and pointed to Violet's nearly empty glass. "And perhaps headed toward a repeat performance of last night?"

Although Martha had lowered her voice, Violet treated her to a particularly malicious glare. "I would appreciate it if you never spoke of that again."

Pursing her lips, Martha changed tack. "I was merely trying remind you why you should go easy on the champagne." But she took the glass from Violet and walked over to the others for a refill.

Violet stared after Martha, silently burning with ire. She trained her eyes on her happy children and their spouses, watching until Martha returned with her champagne. She curled her fingers around the proffered glass, but never moved her eyes.

"You're positively quivering, Violet," Martha observed aloud. "Are you sure you don't want to take me up on my offer of counsel?"

But the soft, somewhat worried voice in which Martha delivered this proposition fell upon Violet's ears like nails upon a chalkboard. She turned on the woman, her eyes flashing with temper and impatience. "Stop acting as if we're friends, Martha. We aren't friends. You're the intrusive mother of my American daughter-in-law. Despite your claim that you never said you didn't like me, I am perceptive enough to know that things don't have to be said in order to be true. I also know that you are the most likely culprit behind the latest indecent act to which I've been witness."

Martha shook her head. "I can't think what you mean, Violet," she said, ignoring the rest, knowing Violet needed to let off steam.

"Don't pretend you don't know, Martha. You sweep in like the Queen of Sheba, shaking everything up and flirting with my husband." Her low hiss slowly transformed, her voice starting to rise along with the color in her face. "You think you know everything, and you have to stick your nose in everywhere it doesn't belong. And you prod and poke and wheedle your way into everyone's lives."

The entirety of Martha's response to this diatribe was an eyebrow lift.

"If that isn't bad enough, I have to walk into the library – a shared space – this afternoon to see my son and daughter-in-law shagging in the middle of the floor! You're the expert, Dr. Queen of Sheba, so tell me why on earth, if they're getting it on all over the house, aren't there any children yet?"

The sudden hush of the room clued Violet in to the fact that her voice had risen to a shout. She closed her mouth with a snap, glancing around at everyone, her face a deep crimson.

Martha caught one glimpse of her daughter's bewildered and slightly ashamed expression and placed her glass down on a nearby table. Robert had been about to say something, but Martha gave him no chance before snatching Violet by the wrist and dragging her roughly from the room.

Isidore's eyebrows nearly met his hair. "Well," he said to the stunned room. "I suppose that's one way to skin a cat. Leave her to Martha. She knows what she's doing."

* * *

"Let go, Martha! You're twisting my arm!" Violet tripped along behind Martha, surprised at the woman's strength. Champagne spilled out of her glass and onto the hall carpet. "What are you doing?"

Martha paid no mind to her and, finding a small sitting room off the main hall, thrust Violet over the threshold and pushed her onto a chair. She stood over her, hands on hips, brow thunderous. "Now, _Empress _Violet, might you do me the honor of telling me what the _fuck_ that was all about? What the hell is _wrong _with you?"

Violet's lips twisted into a grimace, and she stared at Martha for a moment. Then she leapt from the chair and slid around the other woman, heading for the door.

But Martha was quicker, sprinting there to lock it and wrench the key from the hole. "No way, Violet. You're not leaving here until we've had all this out." She held up the key, her face triumphant.

When Violet lunged for it, Martha stepped aside, and Violet's shoulder met the door painfully. Martha dropped the key down her cleavage with a nonchalance that made Violet gape.

Shrugging, Martha said, "I would say 'come and get it', but you're really not my type."

Violet rubbed her shoulder and walked to the chair she'd been put into and slumped down, her head bowed.

"Now. Are you ready to talk?"

Violet glanced up, a murderous look on her face, and made a noise tantamount to a growl.

"Fine. Talk or not, but you _will_ listen."

Turning her head aside, Violet let out a "humph" and examined the marks left on her arm by Martha's fingers and nails.

Martha stepped closer to the other redhead, her arms crossed over her chest. "First – and foremost, after that performance just now in the library – I can't imagine what you think you'll accomplish with all the needling you do to those poor children. Don't they have enough pressure to procreate, without you sending them barbs at every turn? For one thing, that sort of stress only hinders conception; it won't hurry it along. For another – and this is quite troubling – it makes me, and perhaps even them, think that you value them only for their ability to produce children. I don't know about you, but that sounds pretty awful to me."

For a few seconds, Violet closed her eyes, remembering her own mother-in-law's insults and insinuations that something was wrong with Violet for several years before she became pregnant herself. She slowly turned her head, meeting Martha's gaze with a face she attempted to make impassive.

"Second, I think you need to realize that you can't control everything. They'll have children – or not – in their own time. And they might decide to fuck all over the house, I don't know. I never suggested that they should – despite what you think. But they're adults. If it offends you that they have sex in the library, talk to them. If you're too embarrassed to, then be prepared for the possibility of encountering them doing just that. You share a house with them. Technically it's yours and Patrick's, but they live here too," she pointed out. "My guess is they live here because you want them to. So you have to take everything that comes with that."

"I don't want to control everything," Violet contradicted weakly.

Martha snorted. "I would like to believe you, but your behavior suggests otherwise."

A long sigh escaped Violet's lips, and she lowered her lashes. Martha's words kept throbbing in her head – unpleasant, but, strangely, not completely unwelcome.

"The whole time Isidore and I have been here, with few noteworthy exceptions, you've been coldly polite at best, thoroughly unpleasant and downright antagonistic at worst." Martha pursed her lips, remembering something else Violet had said, and putting together a few pieces in her mind. "And if you have a particular accusation you'd wish to make toward me, I'd rather you make it to my face." Her hands moved to her hips.

But her expression didn't reflect anger, as Violet expected. It was curious, bordering on amused. "I – I don't know what you mean," she stammered, hoping to put her off, not wanting to prolong the virtual scourging she now received.

"Come now, Violet. You're sitting in front of someone who assesses this sort of thing for a living. And I'm phenomenal at it. It's why they pay me the big bucks." Martha tilted her head. "So. What's it going to be? You tell me what you really want to say, or we sit here staring at each other until one of us dies?"

Violet inclined her head once. "Fine." She averted her eyes, Martha's stare boring into her in a way that made her fidget, the sensation foreign and uncomfortable. But somehow she found herself relieved at the opportunity to unburden her heavy heart and mind. Even to someone as vulgar and crass as Martha Levinson. She took a deep breath. "I mistakenly thought that Patrick was developing a crush on you."

"Oh my God," Martha choked out. Her laughter came before she could stop it, and Violet's eyes flew up to look at her.

"Why is that funny?"

"Look, Violet," she began, her entire body beginning to relax, "I'll admit to flirting a bit with Patrick, but, honestly, he's not my type either. Even if I would – or possibly could – entertain the idea of being in the arms of anyone but Issi. The man is positively starved for affection, so I simply sent some flirting his way. It makes a man feel confident, you know?"

Violet shrugged and blinked sadly, her own body sagging in the chair. "Apparently I don't." Patrick's words from the day before swirled around in her head. _It's not as if you have deigned to flirt with me in months_, he'd hurled at her.

Martha had not wanted to feel sympathetic toward Violet, but she found that, all of a sudden, she did. The woman evidently hurt, and she took this hurt out on others. Sitting in the chair next to Violet, she addressed her gently, sincerely. "Even if I wanted Patrick, I couldn't have him. And do you know why?"

"No," Violet said, though she suspected she might. Patrick himself had told her.

"Patrick has eyes for no one but you. Sure, he welcomes an innocent flirtation, especially since there seems to be some troubles between the two of you. But he adores you, Violet. As much as this might make him a head case." She shrugged, chuckling.

"Troubles," Violet repeated blandly, her eyes upon her open hands in her lap, the left still bandaged.

"Yes, troubles. Something – hell, Violet, Issi and I could feel it in the air the moment we set foot in this house – is going on between you. Or, more importantly, perhaps something _isn't_ going on." Martha leaned back, knowing a direct question would put Violet back on her guard, but a frank observation might invite a confidence.

Violet realized that she was tired. Tired of carrying all this around with her. Tired of no one understanding her – or, really, pushing away the one person who usually did, and not knowing how to pull him back to her again. "I thought – I thought after the other day, Boxing Day, when we spent the afternoon dancing together, that it might be better, but –" She stopped abruptly, shaking her head, ashamed what she'd thought when she saw Martha and Patrick together that evening.

"Isidore heard something this morning. When Patrick was still asleep in the library. He talked in his sleep, and Issi thought it was a dream. He said something about your being jealous. Violet," Martha said, putting a hand on the other woman's arm, "you don't have to be jealous."

Shaking her head again, Violet blinked against the tears that stung her eyelids, her mind beginning to swim. "But, I don't understand. He _said_ he wasn't bored. He _said_ it, but then he just fell asleep. We haven't… we haven't been _together_ in months." She whispered it, still facing straight ahead, unable to look Martha in the eye as her cheeks flooded with warmth.

Martha patted Violet's arm, holding her breath, waiting, knowing the woman next to her needed to speak, even if it sounded like disjointed rambling to Martha. She knew it wasn't.

"I don't know how to talk to him about it. We never had to before. He was just always _there. _I don't know the words or even what is wrong or what are the right questions to ask. I just thought – I thought I might not excite him anymore. And I didn't – don't – know what to do." Violet tilted her face even farther from Martha's view, not wanting her to see the tears slipping down her face.

"Well, being a surly killjoy doesn't really help."

Violet's head jerked to Martha, a frown pulling down the corners of her lips. To her astonishment, Martha grinned. "Neither does your sense of humor," Violet retorted. But the words had less bite than usual.

"There's the Violet I know," Martha said gently. "And that Patrick loves. Because I'm convinced that he does love you for you. I told you I that like a challenge, Violet. I'm certain he does too."

"But," Violet's eyes went wide as she uttered the words, "but what if he's tired of it?"

"I don't think he is. He might be tired of whatever this is keeping you apart, but not of you."

Taking a deep breath, Violet shook her head. "Perhaps he's bored of me, and he only said otherwise to spare my feelings."

Martha squinted her eyes at Violet. "What would make you think he is? I mean, other than not having been intimate in so long?"

She watched as Violet colored, her head turning away. "We can't all be experts, Martha. It's possible someone would get bored with more of the same."

"You're not serious," Martha said. "Please don't tell me that your repertoire consists of the missionary position and nothing else."

"Of course not!" Violet looked again at Martha. "There are a few other things as well…." Her voice trailed off as Martha shook her head slowly.

"Just a few things? Violet, there's no harm in having _favorite_ things, but there's so much more you two could be doing. It would open up a whole world of pleasure, for both of you."

Setting her jaw, Violet stared at Martha with narrowed eyes. "Are you saying it _is_ my fault then?"

"Well, has he _asked_ for things that you've refused? Not that you have to do everything he asks of you, of course, but there are plenty of variations on a theme that I don't think even _you_ would object to."

Violet's face relaxed somewhat, and she sighed. "No. No, he hasn't asked for anything different. He's always seemed satisfied with what we've always done."

Martha hummed for a few seconds, lost in thought. "Well, it could be because he doesn't know how receptive you'd be to, um, alternatives. Or, he may simply not know of them himself."

"I – I don't know." Violet shrugged, the realization stealing over her that she was talking about her sex life to Martha Levinson. Willingly.

"I'm going to give you some advice. Whether you want it or not." She paused, giving Violet's arm a slight pinch. "You are going to have to take on the dominant role. For whatever reason, he's hesitant to engage in that particular activity with you, and you're going to have to let him know what you want."

"Martha, I don't know about that." Her eyes grew wide again. "I've never done that. I wouldn't know how to begin, even if I felt comfortable –"

"Violet, snap out of it. You're a vivacious woman with needs. Needs that obviously aren't being met. So ask for what you want – what I'm sure he wants. Break through all this nonsense!" Martha chuckled. "You might even want to try something new."

Shaking her head a little, Violet opened and closed her mouth several times, a trifle overwhelmed at the thought. "But – I have no clue how to ask, and I certainly don't know anything 'new.'"

"I could give you some instructions, you know."

Violet drew back from Martha. "No, no. God, please don't." She blinked at her in slight disbelief and, yes, awe.

Martha's shoulders raised and lowered in a shrug. "Alright, I won't. I still have one of your Christmas gifts in my room for you anyway."

The American woman stood and walked to the door before Violet caught on to what was happening. A bewildered expression painted her face at what she thought was an abrupt change of subject and Martha's departure.

Although Violet felt much less like she sat in that room against her will, she got up and turned the door knob. Or, she tried to.

"Bloody hell, Martha!" she shouted to no one in particular. "You locked me in?" She banged her palm on the door several times, perfectly aware that no result would come of it. But it made her feel better. Dropping back down in her chair to wait, she crossed her arms in a sulk.

Not even ten minutes passed before Martha swept back in, locking the door once more behind her.

"Just a precaution," Martha commented brightly when she got a look at Violet's scowl.

"Hardly necessary," Violet muttered.

"Hey, you're the one who tried to sneak past me earlier."

"So I'm to be a prisoner in my own house?"

"Until I have finished having my say, yes."

"What? All that you already said wasn't enough?" Violet's mood, though hardly elevated before, started to take a downward spiral. Everything Martha had said to her reverberated inside her head, and Patrick's melancholy countenance kept flashing in front of her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to go to him, to try to make things right again.

Instead, Martha held her captive.

Ignoring Violet's question, Martha stepped closer. "Now, I meant to give this to you on Christmas day, but Isidore wouldn't let me." She held the small package out for Violet to take.

Eyeing Martha askance, Violet unwrapped a slim, colorful volume. Keeping her eyes on the other woman, she opened the book. It nearly slipped from her hands when she moved her gaze to the page. Instead, she slammed it shut, a blush creeping into her cheeks and down her neck. "Wha– what did you just give me?" she asked Martha, who smirked at her.

"It's a sex manual, of course. Complete with pictures." Martha reached down and plucked the volume from her hand, flipping to the front and holding it up in front of Violet's face. "See? It's even the 'beginner's' volume." She grinned without any sort of guile.

"I could be offended by that, you know," Violet barked, snatching the book back.

"I don't see why. I had a feeling you needed some help. Don't ask me how; I just did. And you already admitted you two are, well, how do I put this? Positionally challenged?"

Violet huffed at her, beginning to flip through the pages of the book and blinking hard at some of the things she saw. "Goodness," she muttered. "Well, that's something I wouldn't have thought of…."

Martha let out a low chuckle. "And that's why I gave you the book." She recognized that she'd lost her attention when Violet tipped the book on its side, staring at the illustration with open-mouthed wonder. "Violet," she said, gingerly pulling the volume out of her hands as she attempted to get her attention again. "You can study that later. With Patrick, if you like." She thought it prudent not to mention that he had his own copy. "But for right now, I want to ask you if you're alright."

"If I'm alright?" Violet stared at her blankly.

"Yes, Violet. I didn't bring you in here just to reproach you. I wanted to help. Help you and help Patrick. So. Are you okay?"

"Honestly? You dragged me in here by force, but not everything you said was without merit." She squared her chin stubbornly, unwilling to admit that Martha had given her a lot to think about – things she would _actually_ think about, rather than forget completely once she'd left the room. "I suppose you've been a trifle helpful."

Martha laughed. "I guess that's as much as I can expect from you, eh, Empress Violet? Well, I'll take it."

"May I be permitted to leave now, Queen of Sheba? I have some, er, reading to do." She kept her jaw set and her eyes steady, even as her face flooded with warmth once more.

"Certainly." Martha's eyes twinkled with mischief for a few seconds. Then she drew a deep breath, her expression growing solemn. "Should I send him upstairs when I get back to the library?"

Violet's face softened as she shook her head. "No. Let him decide when on his own, Martha."

Martha nodded and set the book on the table at Violet's elbow. "I hope you know you can come talk to me again if you need to. I know this doesn't make us friends, but I don't dislike you."

"I –" Violet paused, sucking in a sharp breath. "I don't dislike you either." She watched Martha stroll to the door and unlock it. Before the other redhead departed, she cleared her throat. When Martha turned to look at her, Violet gave her a genuine smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Violet." Leaving the key in its home in the open door, Martha meandered down the hallway, grinning to herself.

* * *

"So?" Isidore inquired, having latched onto Martha's arm and steered her into a vacant corner of the room as soon as she walked in.

"I _hope_ I've done some good, Issi. Those two suffer from an acute lack of communication. I don't know if that's how it's always been between them, but it's definitely been so in the past several months at least." Martha shook her head and drank some of the Scotch Isidore had pressed into her hand when she'd come back.

"She actually talked to you?" His eyebrows raised briefly before his face settled into a warm smile. "But of course she did. I knew she would, Martha." He kissed her cheek.

Martha leaned into his kiss with a grin and chuckled. "Well, I had my doubts. The woman is uncompromisingly stubborn most of the time."

"_Most_ of the time?" Isidore repeated with a low chuckle of his own.

"I was trying to be generous toward her." Her eyes lowered, and she squeezed his arm in hers. "I think you know as well as I do that often exteriors like Violet's are concealing pain."

"Yes, I do. I commend your generosity, and your efforts to help them – to help them both." He inclined his head toward the chair in which Patrick sat, facing away from them.

"I do believe, Issi, that if they can figure out how to talk – or communicate in other ways – with one another, that they'll be fine. Though she never said it aloud, I can see she loves him. Even if she hasn't known how to best act on that for a while."

"I'm happy to hear that assessment, Martha. Patrick has been glum all evening. I mean, it's his birthday tomorrow, for fuck's sake."

Martha knew how much he felt for his friend, and this merely confirmed it. Isidore used that particular word sparingly, unlike herself. "We'll do our best to help make it a good one, either way, Iss." She took another drink, and, when Isidore said nothing, she gestured with her glass to the knot of cheerful young people in the middle of the room. "And the others? They look alright to me – unscathed by Violet's comment."

Isidore drank some of his own Scotch, then shook his head. "No, they're fine. I mean, Cora appeared a bit shaken by it at first, but Robert calmed her down. And Rosamund, well, I'm proud of that young woman, to be honest. She rolled her eyes and poured herself and Marmaduke another glass. It reminded me of the Rosamund I remember from when we were here three years ago."

"I wonder," Martha said, beginning to chuckle now that he'd reassured her about the children, "did you get the skinny on Robert and Cora's 'misbehavior' this afternoon? Violet was utterly convinced that I put the idea in their heads, but I really didn't."

"Ah, well," Isidore said, averting his eyes and fidgeting as he took another swallow of his drink. "That might have been my doing."

Martha's chuckle turned into a full-on laugh. "Oh, hell no, Iss, you didn't!"

Looking at her, Isidore chortled a little. "You would have done the same if you'd been the one listening to Cora pour her heart out."

"That's the thing – it sounds _exactly_ like the sort of advice I'd give. Not so much you." She couldn't seem to control her laughter.

"I guess you've been rubbing off on me more than you realize." He grinned at her.

Martha's laughter trailed off at the gleam she discerned in his eyes. "Mmmm, well, I don't mind a bit of rubbing off." She sidled closer and turned her body to face his, mere inches between them. Leaning up, she brought her lips close to his ear. "I think it's time you took me upstairs and put me to bed."

"A most excellent idea, Martha." He drew back from her enough to waggle his eyebrows.

Exchanging a certain look, they each downed their beverages and deposited the glasses upon a table. Saying goodnight to the others, they made their way upstairs hand in hand.

* * *

Once Violet got to her room, she put the book on her bedside table and dressed for bed, taking special care in selecting her nightgown. Then she sat propped up against her pillows, her reading glasses perched upon her nose, pouring through the sex manual. It engrossed her so, that for a long time she didn't wonder where Patrick might be.

After a while, though, despite all the tingling sensations the volume evoked in her, Violet started to slide down the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion, her poor sleep from the night before and the emotional upheaval catching up with her. Once she realized she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, she clumsily reached over and hid the book away in her nightstand drawer. Too tired even to take off her glasses or turn off her lamp, she curled up and fell asleep.

Patrick trudged up the stairs sometime after midnight. He'd been snoozing in his chair, but Robert had woken him, concerned what a second night sleeping that way might do to him. In fact, Patrick's neck had been hurting because of the angle at which he slept in the chair the night before. He imagined Violet giving him one of her spectacular neck massages. A massage that inevitably always led to other things….

Shaking the image out of his head, he put his hand on the door knob with a sigh. He couldn't pretend to be happy with Violet's earlier outburst. And he couldn't deny the elephant perpetually in the room with them. All he wanted was for things to go back to the way they had been. Today was his birthday, and he wanted to spend it with his family, with his wife.

Once he'd shut the door quietly behind him, Patrick couldn't keep a small smile from his lips. Violet looked so peaceful when she slept. He couldn't bear to wake her; even apart from knowing that she hadn't slept well the night before, if she was asleep he could at least pretend that everything was alright.

Bending over her, he gently removed her glasses and placed them on her night stand. He turned out her lamp and brushed his lips over her forehead, tucking an errant lock of red hair behind her ear. Violet stirred, letting out a soft sigh, but didn't wake. Patrick watched her for a few moments, then went about getting into his pajamas and brushing his teeth.

When he slipped beneath the covers and turned out his light, he considered winding his arms about his wife, holding her. But he didn't want to risk waking her and being rebuffed. So he lay upon his back, closed his eyes, and fell asleep as well.

* * *

Violet yawned and stretched, looking over to the see the other half of the bed empty. She sighed, her heart plummeting. Then she heard the shower running and allowed herself a small smile. Today would be different. Today she was determined to set things right.

So she got up and went to the closet, carefully selecting her clothing for the day. Just as she had decided upon the blouse Martha and Isidore had given her for Christmas – her iciness toward Martha having melted considerably – Patrick appeared in the bathroom doorway, drying his hair with a soft white towel as usual.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Violet asked, her voice as light as she could make it. "It's an important day."

Sitting upon a chair, Patrick continued rubbing his damp hair and shrugged. "You seemed to need the sleep. And I was going to wake you when I got done with my shower."

Violet tried not to frown at the edge in his tone. "Well, I'm awake now. I thought I'd wear this today. What do you think?" She held the blouse up in front of her.

Patrick draped the towel over the back of the chair and stood, walking toward her, giving her a little smile. "I think it will look nice on you." He kissed her cheek briefly as he passed her, standing in front of the closet to choose his own attire.

Hanging the blouse and a pair of dark grey trousers on the wardrobe door knob, Violet closed her eyes, her heart pounding. The kiss had been perfunctory at best. But it was something. "Have you decided what you'll want to do while you're out with everyone today?" she asked, turning to him. She tried to make her voice bright, cheerful.

But Patrick's mind had caught upon something, and he gaped at her, his hands frozen upon his half-finished shirt buttons. "Wait – you're not coming with us?"

The part stunned, part hurt tenor of his question struck at her. She blinked several times before answering him. "No – well, I can't. I have so much work to do here…." She shrugged, attempting to sound less of a horrible person than she felt herself to be. He wanted her to be there, and, more than almost anything, she wanted to be there too.

"Work? Are you serious, Violet?" His expression conveyed a mixture of incredulity, upset, and anger as he stared at her.

It took her breath away – but not in the pleasant manner. The wounded look in his eyes pressed down upon her like an enormous boulder. She felt pinned into place there, unable to move. And as much as she'd been craving to make things right between them, she could do nothing; she had to be in the house to get everything ready for the surprise party. Even more than she'd been last night in the room with Martha, she felt trapped, the situation impossible. She endeavored to sound her usual self, haughty and stubborn. She straightened her back and squared her jaw. "Yes, of course I'm serious, Patrick. Do you think this house runs itself?"

Patrick lowered his eyes, resuming buttoning his shirt with shaking fingers. "It's my birthday, Violet. My birthday. And all I wanted was to spend the day with my family – and that includes you, my wife." He finally got the shirt fully buttoned and lifted a face reddened with temper. "I can't decide whether you really do think you _have_ to do whatever work you've got on your list for today, or you're just avoiding me because you don't want to be with me anymore."

Violet's resolve threatened to crack at his words. But she hadn't successfully kept the secret from him simply to reveal it now, only hours from the party. "I can't believe you would say something like that to me. After everything we've been through."

"Yes, well, I think you would remember that yourself." He stepped into his shoes and turned to thumb through his clothes. Selecting a tie and a sport jacket and folding these over his arm, he spun around again to face her. This time he didn't sound angry; he sounded sad, heartsick. "But if you can't, I suppose you need to add one more thing to your list for today."

"What's that?" Violet asked, a sense of foreboding filling her.

"To have a room fitted up for me and someone put my things in there. Because I can't stay in here with you anymore. Not when you're like this. It hurts too much." Without letting Violet say anything in reply, Patrick went out the door, slamming it shut.

Violet dropped heavily onto the bed, her eyes wide with disbelief at what had just happened. They fixed on the bouquet of flowers on her dressing table. Had it really only been the other day he'd brought them to her? For a split second she thought she'd go after him. Then she heaved a deep sigh and got up. There were things to do. Blinking back tears, she slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Right now, all Violet's faith centered on the hope that when Patrick walked into the party that evening, he'd understand. And that he would forgive her.


	11. Your heart sweats, your body shakes

"I'm so glad to see the two of you this way," Isidore said from the back seat of the car. He squeezed Martha's hand.

Rosamund twisted her head to look at where he sat behind her. "We have you and Martha to thank for it." She reached up and rubbed her fingers along the nape of Marmaduke's neck as he drove. "Isn't that right, my devil?"

Marmaduke chuckled, leaning back slightly into Rosamund's touch and flicking his eyes briefly to her, then to the Levinsons in the mirror. "That's right." He watched the road again, following closely behind the car in which Robert, Cora, and Patrick rode. They were taking Patrick into Ripon for the day, until they would need to have him back to dress for dinner – for the party.

Shifting closer to Isidore on the seat, Martha glanced at him, then to Rosamund. "Well, it wouldn't have mattered if no one had wanted to talk about it."

"So, it's Marmaduke's doing, is it?" Rosamund smiled at him, continuing to trace small circles into his neck. "If he was ever going to go against my wishes, I'm happy that it was concerning this, and in the way he did." She winked back at Martha.

"We are too," Martha said. She waited a moment, then put forth a tentative question. "Are you going to tell your family?"

Marmaduke and Rosamund shared a glance between them, her fingers stilling momentarily upon his nape. "We thought we would tomorrow," she said softly, her eyes meeting Martha's. "We were ready to tell them today, but, well, we didn't want to put a damper on Papa's birthday."

Isidore nodded. "That seems reasonable."

"Although, his spirits seem to be dampened already, don't they? I wonder what's the matter with him. He's been like that for a couple days now." Marmaduke drew his brows together in confusion and shook his head.

Now it was Martha and Isidore's turn to share a look. They'd been surprised to see Patrick come down to breakfast with such a sour expression and to wait in vain for Violet to show up at all. With a sigh, Isidore replied, "If I had to guess, I'd say he's disappointed that Violet didn't come with us."

"Well, it is a shame she had to stay behind. I think Cora would have stayed in her place, but you know how Violet is with these things." Marmaduke shrugged.

"Yes, I think we do." Martha pressed Isidore's hand. "We'll just have to try to cheer him as best we can. Won't we?"

"That's right, Martha. And hope that this party is worth all this misunderstanding."

Rosamund glanced back at them curiously, but said nothing.

* * *

Cora turned toward Patrick, concern writ upon her visage. "Papa, are you alright?"

"Yes, Cora. I'm fine." Patrick sat up straighter and tried to smile. But he saw in the rearview mirror that it came out as a pained grimace. This made him frown.

"I'm sorry, Papa, but you don't really look fine."

Robert flicked his eyes between the two of them, alternating that with his attention to the road. He'd attributed his father's strange mood yesterday to lack of good sleep, but he wasn't so sure he could do that today.

Patrick knew that they all had brought him into town to help him celebrate his birthday, to give him a good day, a nice time. And he wanted to honor that by being in a better mood – or at least trying to be. Taking a deep breath, he attempted a smaller smile, one that he noted looked far less like a grimace. "I'm just concerned about getting older. That's all, Cora. I'll be okay," he muttered.

"Well, as long as that's all it is. And don't worry. You're still young." She grinned at him.

Her soft smile calmed some of the turmoil in his mind, and he managed a genuine smile in return. Patrick knew he had to push away his conversation with Violet that morning, all the heartache he'd been feeling and walking on eggshells they'd been doing. Before he did, though, an image of her face flashed in front of him. For all her imperviousness and her insistence on remaining at the house, when he'd told her to find him another room, she'd looked almost… hurt. Hurt and saddened.

But that hadn't seemed to change her mind.

So Patrick gathered all those thoughts together and swept them as far back as he could push them, determined to have a nice birthday outing with his family.

* * *

It _was_ a nice day, for the most part, if Patrick was honest. However, he couldn't deny that he'd missed Violet terribly. She should have been there, should have been part of his day.

Well, at least in some respect, she'd be part of his evening. But when he arrived at their bedroom just as the dressing gong sounded, she wasn't there. He sighed deeply and surveyed the room. None of his things appeared to be missing. He couldn't decide whether this was a hopeful sign or not. He closed the door and walked over to the wardrobe, where Violet had left his tuxedo out for him.

So it was to be that kind of night. A fancy dinner, best behavior, buttoned up all the way kind of night.

Patrick shook his head, sighed a bit, and undressed, wondering when Violet would be coming in to get changed for dinner.

She never showed up. Patrick smoothed his tux and patted his hair down in the mirror, peeking around the bathroom door. But no Violet. He frowned, believing she must be avoiding him. And it hurt. Even though he realized he probably brought it upon himself, going as far as he did that morning, awash in his own pain and anger at her.

And now it seemed she couldn't even be in the same room with him.

Glancing at the clock, he decided he'd waited for her long enough. It was clear she wasn't coming up, and he didn't want her yelling at him for being late to his own birthday dinner. Then a horrible thought gripped him: what if she wasn't at his birthday dinner?

He didn't even attempt to keep the frown from his face as he descended the stairs, his stomach tightly knotted. Then he noticed that everything was strangely quiet. He knew he had to be the last one downstairs, and by now he'd normally be hearing voices from the drawing room – especially since Martha was among their number. Furrowing his brow, he approached the doorway.

"SURPRISE!" came a collective shout when he got to the drawing room. "Happy birthday, Patrick!"

Patrick grinned, both taken aback and pleased to see all their family and friends gathered in the drawing room. He found himself enveloped in a flurry of handshakes and hugs, claps on the back and warm greetings.

But the company still excluded one person, and his heart fell.

After most of the party had gotten to greet him personally – which took quite a while – Patrick's family and the Levinsons surrounded him again. "Were you surprised, Papa?" Cora asked, her face bright.

"Yes, Cora. Very." He smiled at her, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He kept glancing about, thinking Violet would walk in at any moment. He knew exactly who was behind the party – so why wasn't she here?

"Pat? Are you alright?" Isidore's eyes fastened upon his friend's face in some concern, although he had a pretty good idea what was wrong.

"Where is Violet? Normally she'd be in the middle of this circus, making sure everything runs smoothly. So, where is she?" It came out more forcefully than he'd intended, his upset over her absence boiling over into his tone.

Martha and Patrick exchanged glances as the children looked around as well. They'd seen her slip out of the room just after she'd gotten everyone settled.

"Papa, she was here before you walked in," Robert replied, his eyebrows meeting upon his forehead in bewilderment.

Patrick watched servers mill about with trays of champagne glasses. "Isn't there any bloody Scotch in here?" he mumbled. "I'm going to get a real drink. I'll be back." He walked off in the direction of the library.

"Papa –" Rosamund turned as if to follow her father.

Isidore put up a hand. "I think we should let him go. He's upset."

"But, Issi, that's why I want to go after him." Rosamund's concern made her voice rise in pitch.

"Well, I won't stop you, but I still think he just needs to be alone a while." Isidore shrugged.

Rosamund sighed and took a glass from the tray of a passing server. She trusted Isidore. "No, I'll stay. But if he takes too long, I think I'll have to go find him. This is _his_ party."

* * *

When Patrick entered the library, he stopped short, his breath catching in his throat. Violet had been turning from the liquor cabinet, a drink in her hand. He thought he might be dreaming.

Violet was a vision in white, breathtaking and almost luminous in the light flickering from the fireplace. The dress reminded him a bit of Marilyn Monroe, dipping down low in the front, revealing more cleavage than Violet generally cared to show. Wide straps adorned with glittering clasps held up the bodice, and, to Patrick's astonishment, his wife had chosen to go braless. He knew this because the dress hugged every curve of bosom, waist, and hip, curves he knew better than he knew his own body. With an effort, he dragged his eyes downward to where the skirt of the dress ended above the knee, exposing smooth, toned, porcelain legs. Patrick had always admired his wife's legs, and she didn't often show them off this way.

The dress might have reminded him of Marilyn Monroe, but the only woman he thought of right then was Violet. He lifted his eyes to hers and exhaled finally.

"I didn't know whether you would want me to be there with the others," Violet said. Was there uncertainty in her eyes as well as her words? "After this morning – I didn't want to ruin the moment of surprise for you." She shook her head, long, auburn tresses moving in soft waves over her shoulders.

Patrick reached behind him and closed the door, then took a few steps into the room. "But it was ruined. Because you weren't there." He kept his eyes locked on hers, searching them.

"I'm sorry then. I didn't want to ruin any of it for you." She held out the Scotch. "I made this for myself, but I think perhaps that's why you came in here. Am I right?"

"Yes." He nodded and crossed the distance between them, taking the glass from her hand. Before he could say anything, she turned away to prepare another. If Patrick didn't know her better, he would think she was nervous. "You look beautiful, Violet. Gorgeous, in fact," he said softly.

"Thank you," she replied, pouring whiskey over the ice in the glass. "It's for you. It's all for you, you know." She swallowed hard, fumbling with the soda syphon.

Patrick put a hand over hers, stilling it. "Let me do that. I don't want you to end up with soda on your dress."

Violet nodded and stepped back, watching him finish her drink. She lowered her lashes as he handed it to her, unsure what to say.

"You stayed behind today to put all this in motion." He had a sip of his drink, observing her, not knowing what to think anymore. Everything was a jumble.

Lifting her eyes, she nodded again. "Yes. Patrick, I'm sorry," she repeated. "You have no idea how much I wanted to go with all of you today. When you looked at me the way you did – my heart broke. Especially because –" She paused, taking a drink before going on. "Especially because of how things have been between us the past couple of days. I chose to stay; I almost didn't. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe I should have left Cora here to do all this, but I – I wanted it perfect for you. We've been planning for so long and…"

Patrick listened to her near rambling, saw how she'd bent her head down again, one hand gesturing and her lashes fluttering as she blinked fiercely, and realized that she _was_ nervous. The thought knocked him for a loop. And he looked upon her face with tenderness, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"…didn't get you another room," she continued, "and I didn't move your things because I don't want you to go. I've been wanting to make everything up to you, hoping you'll forgive me. Maybe I was wrong not to go today – it certainly felt wrong as the day went on – and I _know_ I was wrong to accuse you of having a crush on Martha Levinson, but I couldn't help being jealous, even though I know it was partly my fault, and–"

"Violet," Patrick interrupted, near laughter at her being as close to babbling as he'd ever heard her. He put his drink down next to him and slid his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up toward him.

"Hmmm?" she asked, averting her eyes, afraid of what she might see in his.

"Stop talking," he whispered. "Stop talking and kiss me."

Violet fixed astonished eyes on his face. "What?"

"Kiss me. Please." He took another step closer, raising his other arm to brush his fingers through her hair, the faint scent of lavender and honeysuckle rising between them.

A blush came to her cheeks, and the blue of her eyes intensified with a radiant light. She smiled and set her own glass down, then pressed her palms to his chest and her lips to his. Patrick's hand fell away from her chin and slid over her shoulder and down to her lower back as he deepened the kiss, pulling her flush to his body.

When she drew her head away for breath, Violet ran her fingers along the waistcoat of his tux and asked, "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

"Of course I forgive you," he replied. "I hope you'll forgive me too."

"There's nothing to forgive, Patrick."

He continued to weave his fingers through her hair, having almost forgotten how silky it was. "Yes, there is. I must have made you feel so insecure, Violet. I simply didn't think that, because you're always so strong. So much stronger than I am. I honestly don't know what happened, but I do know we should have addressed it sooner."

"Well, we're addressing it now." She smiled at him and touched his face gently.

Patrick bent his head and rested his forehead on hers. "Kiss me again, Violet."

Obediently, Violet kissed him, teasing his bottom lip with her tongue, and pressing against him with an increasing hunger. She gasped as his hand wandered to her behind, rubbing it through the dress, then sighed into his mouth. Patrick's other hand glided down, over her throat, her collar bone, tracing over her cleavage and making her shiver.

"Don't stop," she whispered against his lips, snaking a hand beneath his waistcoat and grazing her fingertips over a nipple through his dress shirt.

He let out a throaty groan, mimicking her actions by cupping her breast and flicking his thumb over the peak.

"Oh God." Violet gasped again as he began nipping at her throat, her breathing becoming heavier and her thoughts hazy.

Then, as she continued to circle her fingers over his nipple, she felt a tell-tale hardness upon her hip.

She withdrew her fingers from his waistcoat and murmured, "Patrick, stop."

"What?" he stilled his hands and lifted his head to look at her, disappointed, but not surprised. Not far down the hallway, a party was going on – for him – and they were in the middle of the library.

But, instead of moving away, Violet kissed him again. "Lean back against the liquor cabinet," she said, her hands in his hair and her breath hot on his ear.

When he didn't move, Violet pushed a hand against his shoulder and pressed her hip into his, guiding him to turn and lean back. She leaned up and captured his lips between hers, her hands meandering down his shirt and to his trousers. Breaking the kiss, she affixed her eyes on his with a wicked expression, her fingers unfastening his trouser buttons.

"Violet? Darling, what are you doing?" He licked his lips as he watched her bend her head and suckle on his neck above his collar. He closed his eyes when she unzipped his trousers and fondled his arousal through his boxers.

She didn't answer him for a few moments, and Patrick couldn't seem to form words. He hung onto her, running his hands up and down her back and letting out a low moan with every new sensation she caused.

Eventually, she drew her head back, a hand still caressing him through his shorts, and whispered, "I'm giving you one of your birthday gifts." Pressing another kiss just under his ear, she took a step back and knelt down in front of him.

Patrick's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Violet, I – um – you – what…?" he stuttered, watching in disbelief as she pulled down both his trousers and boxers.

"Just be still, Patrick," she said, looking up at him with that same wicked grin, her fingers wrapping around him to begin stroking his length.

"Oh sweet heaven," was all he could sigh out as she put her lips around him. He knew now why she'd wanted him to lean back against the cabinet. He hung onto the edges for dear life, his head lolling back as his eyes closed. Violet had _never_ done this before – not this particular thing, certainly, and not even anything outside of their bedroom. The titillation not only of what she was doing, but where…. He had to concentrate very much not to lose complete control of himself right then.

Violet reached one hand around and kneaded his bottom, listening to the noises of enjoyment she elicited from him. Although very nervous, hoping that she was doing this correctly (although becoming more confident from his acute reactions), hoping no one would decide to find the guest of honor or the hostess and walk in on them, she couldn't help feeling a sense of satisfaction. She loved him so much, and she loved making him feel so much pleasure.

Studying the sex manual had indeed been time well spent.

* * *

Rosamund glanced at the clock again. It had been over half an hour. She stamped her foot impatiently and turned to Isidore. "I have to go find him and bring him back. He can't spend his whole birthday party sulking in the library, drinking Scotch. Please, can I go now, Issi?"

Isidore sighed and nodded, in agreement with her when he, too, discerned how late it was getting. "You might find your mother too, after you send him back here. It's a wonder she's not shown up yet."

Practically running from the room, ignoring Robert's chuckle at her impatience, Rosamund went down the hallway and toward the library. The closed door barely gave her pause. If her father meant to become drunk, he probably didn't want any of the guests finding him that way. She opened the door quietly, not wanting to startle him.

She didn't count on being the one startled.

Rosamund's hand flew to her mouth, and she blinked hard at the sight that met her eyes. Her mother – her _mother_ – kneeling down in front of her father, who was grasping the sides of the liquor cabinet, his eyes tightly shut. From the sounds that came from that quarter, it was quite obvious to Rosamund what they were doing.

Carefully backing out and closing the door silently – for she certainly did not want to see her papa's face at getting caught by his daughter – Rosamund stood there a moment, her heart pounding. Then she shook herself all over, squeezing her eyes shut.

That was really not what you wanted to see your parents doing.

She went back to the drawing room at a much slower pace, a trifle dazed. Once she rejoined her family, she grabbed another glass of champagne, and, ignoring their queries and bewildered looks, she downed the whole glass in one, then reached for another. Marmaduke snatched it from her, concerned.

"Hey, hey! Steady now, Rosamund! What's this about? Did you find Patrick?"

Rosamund blushed. "Oh, I found him alright. Mama too." She cocked her head at Isidore. "Is there a way to wash something from your mind? You know? Just whitewash something right out? Or a way to unsee something? Can you hypnotize me or something?"

Martha suddenly began to laugh.

"What's so funny, Martha?" Robert asked, glancing at his wife, more perplexed than when Rosamund had entered the room.

Isidore rolled his eyes, but started to chuckle as well.

"Mother, why are you laughing like that?" Cora asked. "Daddy?"

But Martha shook her head, holding her side, where she'd developed a stitch. She laughed so hard she could barely breathe now, much less answer.

"Your mother thinks she knows why Rosamund seems so, er, traumatized?" He lifted his brows at Rosamund in a questioning look.

Rosamund nodded, snatching back her glass from Marmaduke while he was preoccupied with Martha's reaction. "Just, no one go to the library. And certainly don't let any of the guests near there," she said before tilting the second glass down her throat.

A blush crept up Cora's throat as it dawned on her what they meant. The realization hit Marmaduke at almost the same time. They exchanged looks and nods, Cora starting to giggle. "I could be angry, I know – the way Violet acted last night about finding us in the library, but I just can't be. It's too amusing."

Robert stared at his wife a moment, then his face cleared when she gave him a certain look. "Oh," he said. Then, "_Oh_!" He blinked fiercely for a few moments, then shook himself just as Rosamund had in the hallway. "I did _not _want that picture in my head."

"Try actually seeing it," Rosamund grumbled.

"No, thank you." Robert shivered again and wrapped his arm tighter about Cora's waist.

* * *

Standing on wobbly legs, Violet straightened her dress and had a long drink of her watered-down Scotch. She grinned at her husband, who leaned heavily against the liquor cabinet and stared at her in wonder and amazement. Standing in front of him once more, Violet gave him a long, tender kiss, then bent down to retrieve his boxers from around his ankles.

"Where – what – how?" was all Patrick could manage to get out as she pulled up his shorts.

Violet put the boxers in place with a cheeky _snap_ of the elastic waistband, then caressed his face and smiled. "Martha gave me a book for Christmas. I've been reading it. I thought it could help us if we learned some new things." She kissed his jawline. "I don't want to become boring, Patrick."

Patrick lifted a hand from where he still gripped the cabinet behind him and grazed her cheek with a tender look. "I told you, Violet. You're not boring. You've never bored me."

She took her hand away and pulled his trousers up, her head bent to the task. "Then why haven't we been together in so long?"

Watching her tuck his shirt carefully into the trousers, Patrick sighed. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't know what happened."

Violet nodded silently, intent upon buttoning, zipping, and then straightening his clothes.

"Look at me, Violet," he intoned softly.

She rested her hands on his waist and lifted her head, her eyes on his. "Now you know why I wanted to apologize to you." He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer. "And I am sorry, for letting things get so far out of hand. For making you feel like I didn't want you anymore. Because I do. I love you, Violet."

Smiling up into his face now, Violet whispered, "I love you too."

Patrick waggled his eyebrows. "I think I can tell – after that."

Swatting him on the arm, Violet tried to look scandalized. "Stop that!"

Hugging her tighter, he grinned. "Whatever possessed you to do that? I mean, that particular thing? And here, in the library? Not that I'm complaining at all."

Her face softened, and she slid her hands up to repose on his chest once more. "I wanted to try to make up for all the hurt I've caused you lately. I wanted to give you pleasure. And I didn't want to wait until later." She bent her head to his ear and whispered, "Besides, you have no idea what sorts of fantasies I've been having about you lately."

"I think I can guess at least one of them." He turned his head and kissed her flushed cheek. Patrick inhaled the scent of her hair, happy to have her in his arms. "And perhaps we could explore your other fantasies after the party. I mean, we still haven't technically been together yet. And, my God, am I looking forward to it."

Violet chuckled, her chest vibrating pleasantly against his. "So am I." She touched his face again, gazing at him. "You just reminded me that we have a drawing room full of people, probably wondering where we've disappeared to."

"Trust there to be an event exactly when I most want to throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs and have you all to myself." He bent his head down to kiss her sweetly, then followed her with his eyes as she began to move away, clasping his hand in hers. "Especially when you're wearing something like that."

Tugging on his hand, she threw a saucy look over her shoulder at him. "I told you, tonight is all about you, birthday boy," she said, her voice incredibly suggestive.

Patrick let out a moan of longing. "Quit that, Violet, or I will _have_ to throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs."

"What makes you think I'm not trying to convince you to do just that? You've put that in my head now, and it's vying with all my other fantasies for top billing."

They walked leisurely together toward the door, Patrick just behind Violet so he could fully appreciate the sway of her hips and the beautiful curves of her calves. "Because you planned this for so long, as you said, and there's a roomful of guests awaiting us."

"Yes, I know. But now it's all I'm going to think about all evening. It's going to be most difficult to concentrate. I could be very put out with you, you know."

"Ha! _You're_ going to have difficulty concentrating? I have no idea how I'm going to make it through the evening with all these images in my head and the memory of you, er, doing what you just did, and seeing you walk around in this dress."

"Well, you'll have to try, won't you?" She stopped them near the drawing room and kissed him on the cheek. "It's almost time for dinner, so you'll have to mingle as much as you can before then. Maybe they'll think we've been in there the whole time."

"Ha!" he snorted again.

But he couldn't stop grinning.

Patrick and Violet spoke with guests, separately and together, unable to stop glancing at one another. They wandered around the room until the butler announced dinner, when Patrick sought Violet out and took her arm to lead her into the dining room.

Once everyone had taken their seats, he leaned over as the salads were being served and whispered very quietly to his wife, "Have you noticed our family staring at us oddly?"

"No, I can't say I have. But I can't stop staring at _you_." She smiled at him and draped her serviette over her lap.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Violet, I'm serious. Watch them through dinner. Rosamund and Martha are being particularly odd."

A crease appeared between her brows as she reached for her wine glass. "Of course, Patrick. I'll watch them."

As dinner progressed, Violet divided her attention between Patrick, the dinner companion on her other side, and observing their family. She had to admit that her husband had a point. Rosamund kept rubbing her eyes when she would glance over at one or another of them. Violet made a mental note to speak to Rosamund about that; she was going to give herself dark circles at that rate, and it wasn't doing any favors for her make-up. Cora kept looking as if she would spontaneously burst into giggles. Robert shook his head over and over. Marmaduke seemed the least affected, giving his shoulders a shrug every now and then. Martha and Isidore shared conspiratorial grins, both of them glancing over at Violet or Patrick, Isidore's face all happiness and perhaps relief, Martha's full of mischief.

During the last course, Violet's cautious discernment of anything received a check. Patrick's head was turned toward his own dinner companion, an old friend of his from university. But his hand… well, his hand had found Violet's thigh underneath the table and her serviette – and her dress. The number of people at dinner had made it expedient that the chairs all be very close together, making it very simple for Patrick to accomplish this. His fingertips grazed along her outer thigh a few times, drawing up her skirt along with them. Then he leaned slightly closer to her, all the while continuing his conversation with his mate, his fingers travelling along her inner thigh now. Violet nearly choked on her food as his fingers trailed ever higher. She took a long sip of wine and closed her eyes briefly, attempting to compose herself while hiding behind the excuse of swallowing the bite of food wrong. She believed she managed to keep her face impassive, even as Patrick's fingers now stroked along between the apex of her thighs through her panties.

She knew her face must be flushed, and she kept one hand under the table to make it look as if she merely held Patrick's hand upon her lap beneath the tablecloth. Violet had stopped eating, her full concentration being on looking as if nothing at all was going on. In fact, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning, and held on to Patrick's wrist with a vise-like grip to stop herself from squirming.

Eventually, she had to close her eyes, but before she did, she caught a glimpse of Martha's face. The woman beamed at Violet. _Oh God,_ Violet panicked. _She knows._ But her thoughts couldn't go any farther; instead she turned them toward keeping her breath and countenance under control, and pressed Patrick's fingers hard against her as she endeavored not to cry out her release. Slackening her grasp on Patrick's wrist, she attempted to calm down while he caressed her gently. Then he unexpectedly turned to her, a smile wreathing his lips, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He gave her one last pat and drew her skirt down in a fluid motion.

It was her turn to look at him in slight awe.

Bending down as if she'd dropped her napkin on the floor, he straightened it for her on her lap, grinning. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked, nodding toward her plate.

But Violet knew the question didn't refer to the meal. "Quite satisfactory, yes, if a bit unexpected." She'd finally properly caught her breath.

"I agree. I'm very much looking forward to dessert though."

The twinkle in Patrick's eye was unmistakable. Violet nodded her assent, then picked up her water glass, glancing at Martha again, who grinned like the Cheshire Cat.


	12. Oblivion is all you crave

Isidore looked up with a smile when Martha scraped her fingernails lightly down the back of his hair to get his attention. He touched her cheek as she leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Issi, I need to talk to you. Will you come with me?"

"Certainly, Martha."

Making his excuses to the other guests with whom he'd been engaged in conversation, he got up from the corner of the settee and let Martha lead him by the hand into one of the side halls. Instead of stopping in the hall to speak to him, Martha opened a door and went in, yanking him inside and closing the door firmly behind them. Then she slid her arms around his waist and kissed him.

Confused, Isidore ended the kiss abruptly and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Isidore. You're a sex therapist. I don't think I need to tell you."

"Where are we even?" He put a hand up and felt a chain. A light came on when he pulled on it, disclosing their location. "Isn't this the closet where Violet's been keeping all the party supplies?"

"Yes. Roomy, isn't it?" She waggled her eyebrows at him and tilted her head to his neck, applying lips and tongue there.

"Martha," he breathed, his eyes closing. "What's gotten into you? There is a party going on down the hall. This may not be the best time…."

Reaching up, Martha curled her fingers around Isidore's wrist where he still held loosely onto the chain, then pulled his hand down to turn the light out. "I can't help it," she murmured against his skin. "There's sex in the air, Issi." Martha ran her hand down over his chest, and the hair on the back of his neck rose at this in addition to the tenor of her voice.

And as her hand meandered downward, that wasn't the only thing on the rise.

"Issi, please," she hissed, her breath hot on his throat. "I need you."

"God, Martha," he got out, bringing his head down to meet her lips again and tugging her skirt up over her behind.

Soon the closet had filled with heavy breathing, gasps, and sighs, the pair tearing at buttons and fabric, heat building between them. Lifting Martha up onto a counter she'd been backed up against, and that oh-so-conveniently was the exact necessary height, Isidore grasped her hips and thrust into her urgently as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.

Martha let her shoes fall to the floor with two dull _clunks_, weaving her fingers into his hair and pressing a foot into his behind as Isidore set up an earnest cadence for them. "Yes, oh fuck, yes, Issi," Martha sighed before biting his bottom lip gently, toying with it.

They weren't quite prepared for light to fall upon them from the open door.

"Bloody hell!" Robert shouted.

Martha had enough time before the door shut again to see Robert and Cora's stunned faces framed in the doorway.

"What is going on in this house?" came Robert's voice from the other side of the panel.

In a few seconds Cora called, "Mother and Daddy, we were sent to get something for the party." Her subsequent giggle was unmistakable.

"Issi, don't stop now," Martha gasped to him. "We'll be out shortly, Cora. Just –" But at that point Isidore had gotten her completely discombobulated, and she couldn't suppress a loud moan.

"Oh my God." Robert sounded mortified. Martha would have laughed if she weren't arching her back in pure pleasure, doing well just to keep breathing.

"Um, we'll come back in ten minutes," Cora called again.

Isidore's fingers dug into Martha's hips as he continued. "Fifteen," he grunted out as he settled his forehead down on her chest.

"Alright!" Cora's giggles eventually faded away.

When Martha could function again, she pressed kisses upon Isidore's hair, grazing her fingers up and down his back, over his shoulders through his dress shirt. She hummed happily as new tingles built up inside her and gasped when Isidore slipped a hand between them to fondle her just above their joining.

Isidore felt Martha's toes curl, her foot bearing into his behind. He panted harder, his breath feathering over her cleavage, and he tilted his head a bit to kiss along the tops of her breasts. He heard her breath hitch, and she began shuddering around him. Another moment sent him over the edge with her.

"Mmmmm," Isidore hummed into Martha's neck, nuzzling there with gentle kisses.

Martha shivered a little and chuckled. "Your mustache is tickling."

"Perhaps it will tickle you elsewhere later," he whispered in her ear, nipping at her earlobe before drawing back to kiss her on the mouth.

"Is that a promise?" she inquired, running her fingers one last time through his hair before he could reach up to turn the light on.

"Oh yes. Most definitely."

* * *

Martha straightened Isidore's bow tie just as a knock came at the closet door. She chuckled, then sang out, "We're decent."

But the one standing at the door was Violet. "Well, I would hope so." She put her hands on her hips and eyed the pair of them askance. "Cora and Robert said they had trouble finding the merlot I asked for and I told them not to bother, that I'd get it myself."

Glancing up at Isidore, who had the grace to blush slightly, Martha merely twined her fingers through his and tugged him past Violet with a smirk. "I don't think we broke anything, Violet. By the way, that's a lovely dress. I bet Patrick's feeling ever the lucky birthday boy."

Violet looked down at herself – utterly convinced now that Martha knew what had gone on under the dinner table – and colored. "Yes, well, I wanted to please him."

"I'm sure you have." She paused in the doorway, Isidore a few paces ahead of her. She pressed his hand as she lowered her voice to Violet. "I have some very good lotion for the carpet burn on your knees." She winked at the other woman, who blinked at her in astonishment.

"I – how?" Violet shook her head.

"Come now, Violet, didn't I tell you before? I'm trained to see these things." With that, she followed Isidore down the hall and back to the party.

Violet stood for a moment, getting her bearings again. Somehow Martha knew just how to get her completely flustered. But she wouldn't let the Queen of Sheba get the best of her that night – Patrick's night. Taking several deep breaths, she spotted the merlot – in plain sight, of course, making her wonder at Cora and Robert, but not thinking much further than that – and collected a couple of the bottles. Smoothing her dress, she turned out the light and walked out the door, smiling and thinking about how wonderful the evening had already been.

As she mingled among their guests, making certain everyone was comfortable and had drinks – seeing to all the little details that fell to her as hostess – Violet could feel her husband's eyes on her. The knowledge kept a steady flush in her cheeks, but she did her best to hold the inappropriate thoughts that flashed in her mind at bay. Every time she glanced at him, his gaze seemed drawn to her, a smile wreathing his lips and warming his eyes. She couldn't stop herself from grinning when she caught him looking at her.

So great was Violet's concentration upon their guests and Patrick's looks, she didn't see how Robert attempted to avoid Martha and Isidore, an embarrassed expression on his face, or how Cora tried to calm him down, or how Rosamund averted her eyes from her parents. Normally she'd have caught on to such things, but at that moment she didn't care.

After a while Violet clapped her hands together to get the room's attention. When they'd quieted, she raised her voice. "Thank you all again for coming to celebrate Patrick's birthday. In honor of him, we've pushed back the furniture in the great hall for dancing, if anyone would like to do so." She smiled and indicated the doorway to the hall.

As a few people trickled past her into the great hall, forming pairs to dance, Violet's breath hitched pleasantly when Patrick appeared suddenly at her elbow. "Dance with me," he said, sliding an arm around her waist and gazing at her lovingly.

"I was hoping you'd ask that." She smiled as he steered her to the middle of the dance floor. Violet nodded to the butler, who pushed the play button on the stereo set up for dancing.

But as the first strains of "Let's Get It On" erupted from the speakers, Violet covered her mouth, stunned.

Patrick began laughing. "Don't tell me. You mixed up the cd I had made for you with the one you meant for the party?"

She nodded, her mouth still covered and her eyes wide. She tried to back away from him, mumbling, "I'll go get the right one, Patrick."

But he clung to her, tightening his arm. "No, don't. This one is perfect."

"Patrick," she pleaded as he endeavored to get her to move with him, "it's _our_ cd. The songs on it…."

He stilled, bending his head and murmuring in her ear. "Violet, I don't plan on dancing with anyone else this evening. They're still our songs. And I don't care who else sees. I want to be the envy of everyone here tonight."

Violet's blush spread down over her chest as she met his eyes. The tenderness in his expression, in his voice, took her breath away. Caressing his cheek, she smiled at him and nodded. Grinning, he held her close and began dancing with her, crooning the lyrics softly in her ear.

Soon, Patrick had found one of her hands and wove his fingers through hers, pressing the back of her hand to his heart. Violet twisted the fingers of her other hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with it distractedly. The words he sang to her gave her pleasant chills up and down her spine, and she rubbed her cheek against his.

They danced together for over an hour, in their own world, picking up the pace when the song called for it, laughing and grinning at one another, slowing down again when the song was slow. Violet did her best not to get completely undone by the sensual words Patrick sang to her in that low, breathy voice, and Patrick fought the urge to whisk her upstairs because of how she intoxicated him.

Although not quite the envy of _everyone_ at the party, they came close.

* * *

"Just look at them," Isidore said, pointing his thumb toward Patrick and Violet and grinning.

"I know – it's wonderful, isn't it?" Martha agreed, linking her arms more firmly around her husband's neck as they danced together.

Lacing his fingers together over her lower back, Isidore nodded. "I like to think we had a hand in that."

"Oh, I know we did, Iss. And the two of them are going to have a _very_ good night, I believe." She smirked at him.

Bending his head closer, he said in a low voice, "So are we."

"Baby, I'm already having a very good night."

Isidore merely chuckled and dipped her very low, pressing a kiss to her neck and savoring her answering purr.

* * *

Robert covered his eyes, shaking his head. "Have we started some sort of epidemic, Cora?"

"Sex-idemic."

Groaning, Robert sank back even more into the settee where they sat together.

Cora giggled and pressed a glass of Scotch into his other hand. "Here. For your obviously shattered nerves. And we didn't start it. I used to catch them at home all the time. Momma and Daddy, I mean. Sometimes they can't help themselves. I didn't think I'd find them at it here though." She chuckled and patted Robert's thigh.

"And _my_ mama and papa? Rosamund obviously caught them doing _something_ naughty in the library." He shook his head again and put the glass to his forehead, as if the thought gave him a headache.

"Well, Robert," Cora said, her voice soothing and her hand rubbing his leg gently, "the same argument applies here: it's _our_ house, but it's _theirs_ as well. Besides, it's Papa's birthday."

"Stop, Cora." Robert pushed the heel of his hand into one of his eyes. "Stop – you're just making it worse."

"Oh, my darling," she murmured, "how can I make it better?" Cora leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Maybe if we go dance, that'll help you forget."

"No, no. Our parents are out there."

"Well, if you don't get up and participate in the festivities, I might get very put out with you. I didn't wear this dress for anyone else, you know." She grazed her fingers along his cheek and whispered, "You can't look at me if you keep covering your eyes like that."

Robert moved his hand, the lashes of one eye fluttering open hesitantly. "You do look very pretty tonight, Cora."

"And you're going to let a little thing like a sex-idemic ruin that." Her mouth turned down in a pout, but her fingers continued to trace over his jawline.

Opening his other eye, he began to grin. "That wouldn't be fair to you at all, sweetheart." He lowered the glass of Scotch and placed it down on the table next to him, then covered her hand with his own, bringing it around and kissing her palm.

Cora's eyes lit up, her frown transforming slowly. "Does this mean we can dance? Your mother chose some very interesting songs." What had been a frown had now become a smirk.

He grinned wider, saying softly, "Stand up a moment first. Let me see this dress you wore for no one else."

A tinge of color reaching her cheeks, Cora stood, her hand still clasped in Robert's. She tilted an eyebrow up as he swept his eyes over her. "Well?"

"Yes, very beautiful." He got up and whispered in her ear. "I look forward to revealing the dazzling woman beneath it later." Giving her earlobe a gentle nip, Robert drew away to return her smirk and led her into the great hall, all thoughts of their parents' escapades fading into the shadows, the light cast upon their own.

* * *

"Marmaduke, how am I supposed to look either of them in the eye again?" Rosamund cast her parents small glances as she drank more champagne. She and Marmaduke sat in a pair of chairs on the edge of the great hall, watching the other dancers while they caught their own breath.

Squeezing her hand, Marmaduke let out a chuckle. "Rosamund, I know it's not what you would have chosen to see, but it's not that bad."

"Did you ever catch your parents in the act?" she inquired, slightly annoyed at him.

"Well, no. But, come on, darling. Don't you remember how despondent your father has been the past few days? And now, look how happy he is." He held up a hand, palm up, indicating the couple.

"I'd think he would be, after that," she muttered, gazing into her champagne glass.

"Rosamund, quit that now. You should be thankful. I mean, isn't Violet always much more amiable when she and Patrick are getting along well?"

Shrugging half-heartedly, her eyes still on the glass, Rosamund said, "Yes, I suppose."

"And don't you remember what we have to tell everyone tomorrow?" he reminded her in a low voice.

Rosamund sighed heavily, then lifted her head to meet his eyes. "I remember."

"Then just do your best to put what you saw behind you. It'll fade away, I promise. And you can rest easy in the knowledge that your parents are happy together. You can't tell me you don't want that for them." He kissed the back of her hand.

Resting her eyes on her parents as they danced, both of them smiling and gazing into one another's eyes, manifestly absorbed with each other, Rosamund allowed her expression to soften. "No, Marmaduke. I can't tell you that. Because I do want them to be happy." She moved her eyes to his face once more, starting to smile. "And I want us to be happy."

"I am happy, darling." He kissed her hand again and pulled her up with him as another song started.

"So am I," Rosamund replied as he drew her into a close embrace to dance with her. "My devil."

* * *

Eventually guests began to leave, and Violet and Patrick had to break apart in order to settle into their task of sending people off with appreciation and warm farewells. As they did this, sneaking glances at one another while their friends shrugged into coats and scarves, Violet felt not only the elation of reconciling with her husband, but a deep sense of accomplishment and satisfaction at the success of the surprise party.

And this success made her grateful to others as well.

After everyone had gotten safely in their cars and down the drive, Violet and Patrick walked back into the library hand in hand where their family had gathered together, lounging with contented weariness upon the chairs and settees.

"So, Papa," Cora said, smiling at him, "did you enjoy your birthday surprise?"

Patrick walked over and bent down to kiss her forehead. "I did, Cora. Very much." He grinned and turned to press a kiss to Rosamund's brow as well. Settling down into his chair, he glanced around at them all, then fixed his eyes onto his wife, who prepared him a glass of Scotch at the liquor cabinet.

"In fact," Violet said, bringing him the drink and standing beside his chair, placing a hand on the nape of his neck, "I should thank Cora particularly for her help. Rosamund too. I couldn't have done it without them." She looked at one, then the other with a smile.

Rosamund blinked in disbelief, and Cora beamed. Such praise from Violet was rare.

"Mama? How much have you had to drink?" Rosamund peered at her mother, leaning forward in her place beside Marmaduke.

Violet rolled her eyes and stroked her fingers gently just above Patrick's collar. "Really, Rosamund. Do I have to be drunk to express my gratitude to someone for their invaluable help?" But her voice only held a trace of irritation. The rest seemed to be amusement.

"Normally, yes," Rosamund answered firmly.

Shrugging her shoulders and gazing down at her husband, who'd only had a couple of sips of his drink, she grinned. "Then perhaps you should consider that this isn't a normal situation. It's your papa's birthday. And I'm glad that it went smoothly. Can't I be thankful for that?"

Rosamund simply lifted an eyebrow at this and settled back into the crook of Marmaduke's arm.

"Well, I was glad to help, Violet," Cora said, wringing Robert's hand gently. She wasn't about to attribute her mother-in-law's approval to anything but appreciation.

Martha watched how Cora glowed with the praise and shot Violet her own look of gratitude. Violet gave the other woman a tiny nod of acknowledgment. She was feeling very generous.

Patrick put his half-finished Scotch down beside him and clapped his hands down on the arms of his chair, pushing himself forward. "I'm worn out, to tell the truth, so I think I'll be off to bed now." He made his rounds of the room, thanking them all for the birthday wishes and their help with the party and keeping the guests comfortable. Then he stood in the doorway and turned, holding his hand out. "Violet?"

Violet grinned at him and said quick goodnights to the others, even allowing Martha to embrace her briefly. Then she slipped her hand into Patrick's and followed him out the door.

Once they were a few paces from the door, Patrick suddenly turned and bent down, hoisting Violet onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"Patrick!" she shrieked, laughing.

"I told you all I wanted to do was throw you over my shoulder and take you upstairs," he remarked, lifting her hand up to kiss it and running a palm over her thigh as he carried her to the staircase. "And now I am."

Her laughter filled his ears now. "Patrick, I'm too heavy for you to carry all the way to our room; you'll drop me!"

"No, I won't! You weigh hardly a thing, darling. But if you don't stop wriggling so much, I'll drop you anyway!" His own laugh rang out with hers.

"Sorry – no, I'll try to stop wriggling." Violet went as still as possible, just enjoying the sensation of being swooped up and taken upstairs, but continuing to tremble with laughter, as the whole situation amused her so.

Patrick set her down gently inside their bedroom, locking the door behind them. Then, he cupped her face in his hands and gave her a deep, sweet kiss. "I've been wanting to do that for hours," he whispered against her lips, resting his forehead down on hers.

"Do it again, Patrick." Violet covered his hands with hers and closed her eyes, waiting.

"With pleasure," he replied, repeating the action, but moving his hands back and into her hair.

Violet tugged at his bowtie, undoing the knot and tossing the strip of cloth aside, then pushed at his jacket, urging him to drop his hands so she could rid him of this as well. He obliged and twisted his hands into her hair again, all the while kissing her with a fevered intensity.

"Patrick," she sighed as his hands and mouth began trailing down her body.

"Mmmm," he hummed in answer, then drew back, touching her cheek. "I want to see this dress again." He moved away, turning on a lamp.

Violet blushed to feel his eyes caress every dip and jut and curve.

"You know what makes it so magnificent?" he asked, stepping closer and taking her hand, weaving their fingers together.

"What?" She lowered her lashes, inexplicably shy at his deliberate study of her.

Patrick brushed his lips over her reddened cheeks, completely charmed by her sudden bashfulness, then whispered, "How enticing and alluring it makes you look. It reveals nothing to excess, and yet, to me, it reveals everything." He placed his other hand on her waist and bent his head, kissing her neck.

Violet tilted her head back, humming happily. "I wanted to please you," she repeated once again, for it was the absolute truth.

"You have," he murmured against her throat. "And I do hope I pleased you earlier," he added with a low, rich chuckle.

"Oh goodness, yes," she breathed. "You've no idea how difficult it was for me to keep a straight face, Patrick."

Leaning back, he looked at her and chuckled again. "I'm amazed you didn't swat my hand away."

"I was too surprised. I couldn't think clearly." She shook her head slightly.

"Good," he said with a smirk, then pulled her closer and kissed her shoulder. "I like I have that ability, Violet – to render you incapable of thinking clearly. It evens the playing field."

"Meaning?" Violet slid her fingers into his hair with a soft sigh.

Turning his head a trifle and lifting his eyes to hers, he smiled. "Meaning, I don't think you realize how often you do just that to me. Often without intending to. You intoxicate me." Patrick closed his eyes and nuzzled his face in the hollow of her neck, inhaling her unique scent.

Violet moaned when she felt Patrick's hands slither up from her waist to cup a breast through the silky white fabric, his tongue dipping into her clavicle. "Patrick," she sighed out, unwinding her fingers from his so she could unbutton waistcoat and dress shirt.

The way she had of sighing his name had always had a dizzying effect on him, and this time was no exception. His caresses took on a fevered aspect, matching the eagerness he could detect in her own motions, creating a desperate heat between them. In no time he tugged the dress over her head, flinging it behind him where it joined his shirt and waistcoat on the floor. They stepped out of shoes, and Patrick lifted Violet up against him, delighting in her gasp. He walked them the few paces to the bed and pressed her down upon it, his fingers and mouth trailing fire along her skin as she began squirming under him.

Her fingers twisted into his hair as he traced patterns over her abdomen with his tongue, pulling his hands away long enough to divest himself of trousers and boxers. Having accomplished this, he crawled up beside her and touched her face, gazing at her. Leaning forward to kiss her, he grazed his fingers down her body, slowly, deliberately, loving how she writhed and pressed into his touch. Hooking his fingers around the waistband of her panties, Patrick slid these down her legs in a fluid movement, and flung them away.

"Patrick, please," Violet breathed, her darkened eyes pleading. Her hands left his hair and settled upon his behind, squeezing him as she pulled him closer and trilling in bliss at his answering groan. She kissed his jaw and down to his neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin there, making him gasp.

"If you insist, darling," Patrick whispered, shifting so his hips rested between her legs, his arousal heavy upon her thigh. He put his weight upon his elbows, slipping his hands and forearms under her back and looking down into her eyes. "Tell me you love me, Violet. Tell me you love me and that you want me to make love to you."

Violet raised a hand and threaded her fingers through the salt and pepper hair at his temple lovingly, a soft smile upon her lips. "I do love you, Patrick. And I want you to make love to me. Please, make love to me." She lifted her hips enough to brush her thigh against his hardened length.

Patrick closed his eyes with a groan. "Heavens," he murmured before bending his head to kiss her. Extracting an arm from beneath her to hold her hips in place, he pushed into her with another guttural noise rising from the very back of his throat.

Letting out a prolonged sigh of bliss, Violet wrapped her legs around Patrick's waist, urging him deeper. Once he'd gotten settled atop her, before he began to move, she opened her eyes and ran a thumb along his temple. "Look at me," she whispered against his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Patrick lifted his head enough to do as she asked, hearing a kind of beseeching in her voice.

"How I've missed you, beloved. I never feel quite whole when things aren't right between us."

Patrick blinked hard, nodding, her words nesting in his heart. "I know. I don't either." He moved his hand from her hip to her face, tracing tender fingers over her cheekbones. "Because I love you too, Violet. I love you more than you could ever know."

Capturing her lips once more, he kissed her gently before moving his hips, his strokes deliberate and measured, years of remembered experience informing him just what would make his wife shudder and sigh his name again beneath him. After a while, he ended the kiss and studied her, gazing into her eyes and watching as ecstasy overcame her, her legs tightening around his waist and her hips rising to meet him. He panted and moaned at the feel of her, unable to keep from closing his eyes and burrowing his head in her neck as he endeavored to pull himself from the precipice. It was too soon. He couldn't leave Violet wanting. Not with everything she'd done for him that evening. Not with so many achingly lonely months still hanging between them.

Violet trembled, her breathing heavy and her heart racing. She cradled Patrick's head against her, humming her approval into his hair. Then, as her mind cleared, an idea struck her. "Patrick," she murmured near his ear, "turn over."

"Hmm?" he grunted.

"Roll over. With me," she whispered excitedly, a shiver of anticipation running up her spine.

Patrick stopped abruptly, his hips flush against hers, lifting his head to look at her curiously. "What?" At her nod and blush, his mind reeled. "Really?" He started to grin when she nodded again. "My, you are full of surprises tonight, Violet," he remarked, embracing her tightly and leaning toward one side in order to build up the momentum to flip them over in one swift motion.

"Well, what's a birthday without surprises, Patrick?" she replied, a coy expression on her face. She pressed her knees into his sides where she now straddled him, making him twitch inside her and eliciting a deep moan.

His eyes closing, Patrick grunted out, "Good God, woman." He glided his palms down her sides and over her waist to rest on her hips. Licking his lips, he whispered, "Are you going to make me beg?"

Violet lay her torso upon his and murmured into his ear, "No, Patrick. You don't have to beg." Placing kisses on his jaw and throat, she rolled her hips, her breasts rubbing over his chest with an incredibly gratifying friction for them both.

Eventually, Violet's hands plucked his from her hips. She twined their fingers together and lifted his arms above his head, watching him through eyes glittering with desire and love, her chest heaving with the effort of maintaining the tempo she demanded of herself, one she knew would open up remarkable pleasure for Patrick – and for her.

Although Patrick would ordinarily have taken the lead in their lovemaking, he had to admit to reveling in the change. Seeing his wife this way thrilled him, made his blood warm in a similar manner to when she'd knelt down in front of him in the library. Soon Violet had let go of his hands, pushing herself into an upright position above him. He pressed his fingers into her hips again, helping her keep the cadence as he watched her, enrapt. There was something unbelievably exciting in seeing her toss her head back, her hair falling down her shoulders, in hearing her cry out as she experienced her throes another time.

It excited him so much, watching her, hearing her, and, within seconds, feeling her contract strongly around him, that he couldn't hang on anymore and let her carry him along with her into oblivion, his own cry meeting hers as their hips met one final time. His hands kept her flush against him, even as she rocked gently back and forth, her fingers wrapped around his wrists.

When Patrick could open his eyes – having only then realized he'd shut them – he stared at his wife in amazement. Violet's own eyes were still closed, a satisfied smile adorning her beautiful mouth and her chest rising and falling heavily while she caught her breath. This magnificent creature, her skin glistening in the soft glow of the one lamp and her red hair swirling in gentle waves upon her shoulders and down her back – she was all his. And suddenly Patrick felt a fool for going even one day without simply holding her against him and telling her, in words or not, just how much she meant to him.

Violet's lashes fluttered open, her smile widening. At least, it did until she caught the strange expression on his face. "Patrick? Was – did you not like it?" Her brows drew together and her heart thumped painfully against her chest.

He gathered that his visage had gone from amazement and awe to remorse, and that Violet had misread this as something else. Patrick shook his head and smiled lovingly at her. "No, darling one. That's not it." He moved his hands from her hips, and, when her fingers released his wrists, clasped her hands in his. "Come down here so I can hold you."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Violet lowered herself down onto his chest and straightened her legs out with a faint grimace. Patrick's low chuckle rumbled in her own chest as he wrapped his arms around her back and ran his fingers gently over her skin. Kissing her tenderly, he tilted his head to look at her. "You're going to feel that in the morning."

Violet touched her fingertips to his chin. "It was worth it," she whispered. "As long as you enjoyed it."

"Oh, Violet. The word 'enjoy' is woefully inadequate." He moved a hand to guide her to settle down more fully onto his chest, tucking her head under his chin and brushing his fingers through her hair. At her soft sigh, he kissed the top of her head and gave his own deep sigh of contentment.

"Patrick?" she asked, her body relaxing into his as he played with her hair.

"Yes, Violet?" he answered, breathing her in.

A slight fidget attended her next question. "Why did you look like that earlier? As if you were unhappy somehow?"

Patrick's chest expanded with his deep inhalation. His exhale ruffled the hair on her brow. Cautiously, not wanting to disturb her any more than necessary, he turned them onto their sides, taking the opportunity to drape a blanket over their lower limbs. Cradling Violet's head in the crook of his left arm, he continued to hold her close with his right. He looked into her face – the impetus behind the position change – and twisted locks of her hair leisurely around the fingers of his left hand.

"I wasn't unhappy or displeased. At least, not with anything we'd just done. I was simply looking at you, this incredible, gorgeous woman sat before me, and I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been these past months. To have you, right here beside me, and let such a distance grow between us. I could kick myself for it."

Violet cupped his face, her eyes shining with love and understanding. "An unnecessary gesture, I think, Patrick. Besides, I'm sure I'm at least equally to blame. Sometimes we forget the most important things in the every day. It frightens me at times."

To hear her admit any sort of fear took Patrick aback. He rested his forehead down on hers, still gazing at her. "It does?"

"Yes. At least, lately it has. When you said that you wanted me to get you a different room this morning, Patrick, I – you can't know how fearful it made me. Because, no matter what goes on between us otherwise, you belong right here. With me."

"You don't have to be afraid of that anymore, Violet. I'm staying right here with you. Always," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Violet nodded, allowing her eyes to close in her happy exhaustion, entirely reassured.

"That's right, my darling. You rest now. And I'll hold you all night." Patrick tucked the blanket higher around them, then wrapped his arms more securely about her. He hummed gently, feeling her relax completely in his embrace, her hand falling from his face to repose on his chest. Not long after her breathing indicated to him she'd gone to sleep, he followed suit, his arms still tight around her.


	13. You don't mind if you do

"Is something wrong, Rosamund?" Marmaduke paused in the act of taking off his shoes and socks, his wife having heaved a deep sigh.

She looked at him in the vanity mirror, sliding bracelets down her wrists before attempting to unfasten her necklace. But the clasp gave her trembling hands trouble. "Will you…?" she inquired, waving a hand toward the nape of her neck and lifting her hair up.

Working on the clasp awkwardly with his much larger fingers, Marmaduke squinted at it, glancing up at her reflection at intervals. "I don't think your sigh had to do with this necklace," he prompted her gently.

"No. It didn't." She met his eyes in the mirror, a faint flush rising in her face.

"You're not still upset about catching your parents earlier, are you?" He freed her of the necklace and put it down on the vanity in front of her, then placed his hands on her shoulders.

"No – well, I am a little, but that's not what I was thinking about."

Marmaduke sensed a reluctance in her and recognized the necessity of treading lightly. "Would you want to talk about it, darling?" His thumbs massaged small circles into her neck.

Slowly, she spun around in the chair to face him, grasping one of his hands where it rested on her shoulder. "Do we have to tell them?" she asked in a tiny voice almost completely unlike her own normal one and lowered her eyes to the floor.

Coming the few steps around the chair, he knelt in front of her, bringing her hand with him and squeezing it between his own. "Rosamund, we talked about this. We agreed. It's better to go ahead and deal with it. Together. And that having Martha and Issi here would be good, if we need their help. Remember?" He made his voice soft, and as understanding as he could. He'd had a feeling that when it came down to it, she would balk. But he wouldn't let her back away. Not now.

"I don't see why we have to tell anyone else, Marmaduke. Can't we simply keep it to ourselves?" She kept head bowed, her tone desperate now.

"Rosamund? Please…." Slipping his fingers beneath her chin, he raised it, needing her to look at him again. "We have to tell them because they're our family. And because this is the best way for us to heal. For _you_ to heal. Hiding this won't help." Marmaduke took a deep breath. "If we do this, tell your family, I promise you we won't have to tell anyone else. Not if you don't want to."

Gulping back unwanted tears, Rosamund nodded. "I – I know we agreed, so we will. But… not only am I dreading Mama's reaction, I can't bear to disappoint my papa."

"Darling, we cannot control how they react. We can only resolve to tell them and hope for the best." How he wished he could guarantee sympathetic and understanding responses from her family. But he couldn't. All he could do was support her, whatever they did or said.

And he would.

"I know," she conceded quietly, and Marmaduke's heart ached to hear his strong, ordinarily resilient wife this way.

He let her chin go with a caress of his fingers and, leaving her hand in her lap, bent to take off her shoes for her. With a cough to clear his throat, hoping a slight change of subject wouldn't go amiss, he said, "I had a thought, Rosamund."

"What's that, Marmaduke?" Her voice still held a note of sadness and resignation.

Grazing his fingertips over her ankles distractedly, he lifted his eyes to hers. "I want to take you on a second honeymoon."

Gesturing to the zipper of her dress, she turned again in her chair, her brows drawn together. "Why?"

Marmaduke stood and tugged at Rosamund's zipper. "Oh, for many reasons. The first being that I want us to have some time alone together, to keep working through all of this. It's still so new, so fresh. It's something we have to get used to – at least, I know I do."

"But," she replied, watching him in the mirror once more, "if we have to get used to it, shouldn't we dive back into our regular life?"

Having worked the zipper pull all the way down to the small of her back, Marmaduke put his hands over her shoulders again. "We will do that. But, don't you remember when we first married and went on honeymoon? We came back with all these hopes and expectations, this picture of what our life would be like. But now…. I just thought that we could go away, have some time to ourselves, maybe form some new hopes and expectations. Because our life isn't going to be exactly like we thought. And that's a lot of what Martha and Isidore were trying to get us to see, to accept."

"I don't know, Marmaduke."

Coming around the chair again, he took her hands in his and pulled her up, settling their hands upon his chest and looking at her in earnest. "Rosamund, please. You've been through so much. Let me take you away for a while. Let me pamper you. We'll go to an island in the Caribbean if you want – lie on a beach where it's warm. Or we could go to Paris, and we'll climb the Eiffel Tower. It's shorter in the winter, you know." He smiled at her and pressed her hands. "Please. I want to go away with you."

Rosamund extricated one of her hands from him and cupped his face with it, a small smile curling her lips. "You nearly have me convinced, you sly devil."

"Nearly?" he asked, smiling in return. "How can I completely convince you?"

She didn't say anything. She simply closed her eyes and tilted her head up toward his, her fingers working gently to coax his head down. Marmaduke indulged her, mainly because he'd been wanting to kiss her all evening.

"So," he mused between kisses, "you'll be convinced if I seduce you?" His free hand slithered over her dress, around to where her open zipper disclosed the smooth skin of her back, and glided his fingers along her spine.

Unexpectedly, Rosamund chuckled. "Oh no. You actually had me hooked when you so obviously _wanted_ to go away with me. I said that so I could seduce _you_." Grinning at him wickedly, she turned his hand – the one that had still held hers to his chest – around and pressed it to her breast with a low purr. She closed her eyes as he immediately began kneading it through the fabric. Winding both arms around his neck, she pulled his head down to kiss him again.

"And you call _me_ devil," he murmured once she'd let him end the kiss so he could concentrate his attentions upon her neck.

"Well, you are one," she insisted, running her hands through his hair.

Marmaduke nipped at the sensitive skin beneath her ear – a trifle too hard, from her startled yelp. "I'm sorry, darling," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the place, then lifting his head to look at her. "Are you alright?"

"I think I will recover from a little love bite." She brought her hands around to cup his face and breathed into his ear, "Devil." Biting his earlobe somewhat harder than she would ordinarily, she shivered at his gasp of shock, then sucked upon it gently to take away the sting.

"What I did was by accident, you wicked creature; you're just being naughty." He closed his eyes as she trailed kisses and little nips down to and then along the collar of his shirt.

"Perhaps I should be punished then." Rosamund let out a sharp gasp; his hand had stilled upon her breast when he'd bitten her, but, unexpectedly, he flicked his thumb across the taut peak.

Just as unexpectedly, his other hand left her back and came down with a sharp smack to her rear. She'd had only time enough to gasp again before he settled his hand there, rubbing vigorously. His reward came in the form of a satisfying trill and Rosamund pushing her hips up against him.

"Again," she purred, plucking at his bow tie to rid him of it and running her hands over his chest.

Marmaduke watched his wife – her eyes closed and lips parted in anticipation – and delivered another solid slap upon her bottom. With another little gasp, Rosamund wriggled and brushed against his lower half. He felt his body react fully now, and he growled. Bending his head, he ran his lips along the curve of her ear. "How many spankings might be sufficient punishment?"

"Well, since you are the disciplinarian meting out punishment, that should be up to you." Rosamund snaked a hand down to grope the front of his trousers. "Of course, I plan on being even naughtier before we're done."

Sucking in a large breath, Marmaduke closed his eyes and raised his hand to spank her again. But before he could do so, she slipped away from him, tripping neatly backwards, her chuckles tickling his ears as he stared at her, momentarily stunned. Across the room, Rosamund held his gaze, dragging her dress over her shoulders and allowing it to slide down her body and to the floor, a broad grin on her face and her eyes glittering in the light of the lamps.

He had to swallow hard at the sight and clear his throat to say roughly, "I think you've earned quite a few more spankings, young lady."

"You'll have to catch me first," she said, laughing and side-stepping to put the bed between them.

Marmaduke started after her, in no hurry at first, since he also concentrated upon shedding his clothes as well. Once he was in a similar state of undress to his wife, though – down to his undershorts – he picked up speed as he chased her around the room. Rosamund let out a shrill outcry at this and scrambled across the bed to the other side, giggling and waiting to see if he'd follow her. When he did, she dashed over by the closet door, then laughed and darted to the vanity as he got close again.

Several more times she did this, waiting just long enough for him to get close to her and then eluding his grasp, until, giggling and out of breath, she allowed him to pin her to one of the closet doors. Marmaduke clutched her wrists in his hands and held them above her head, and Rosamund could see the depths of lust in his eyes, the brown almost black, his skin flushed from the chase.

Smirking at her, Marmaduke bent his head to run his tongue over her collar bones and down between her breasts, his hands still keeping her arms aloft. She felt the cotton of his undershorts against her thigh where he pressed himself, grinding into her. Her hands twitched – not from any pain, but from the unexpectedly heady desire to touch him – and she licked her lips. "Marmaduke," she whined, fidgeting.

"Mmmm," he hummed, moving his head to whisper in her ear, "I don't think I want to spank you anymore. But you've been naughty, and there are other ways to punish you." The caressing tone of his voice belied the denotation of his words, giving them a connotation that made Rosamund squirm again in anticipation.

While he continued to rub himself against her thigh, Marmaduke transferred both her wrists to one hand, still able to keep them immobilized over her head, and opened the other closet door. He felt for and located a silk scarf that he knew hung on a hook on the inside of the panel, not taking his eyes from her face.

Wrapping the scarf around her wrists, he feathered her face with kisses and then searched her eyes, her expression and the slight motions of her body passing silent messages to him. With a nearly imperceptible nod, Marmaduke led her to the foot of the bed and pushed the bench that sat there over so she could lean against it, the ornate footboard reaching as high as her lower back. Standing on the bench, Marmaduke tied the end of the scarf around the beam between the two bed posts, stretching her arms up over her head, which turned to watch him. He knelt on the bench, cupping her face in his palm.

"It's not too tight, is it? There's enough slack?" The concern in his voice came through. It'd been a long time since they'd played this sort of game and true pain had never been the goal. "You remember how to tell me if it's too much? One flick of my wrist, and your hands will be free."

"I'm fine, my devil," she said, smiling and bending her head to rest her forehead against his. "Now where's my punishment?" Her voice became husky, and she wriggled.

He caressed her cheek before stepping down from the bench, then crushed his mouth to hers in a long, ravenous kiss. Rosamund began writhing against him as he pressed his groin into her thigh again. Marmaduke groaned and broke the kiss, moving his attentions down her body, his fingers and mouth working their way over her silky skin, deliberately avoiding her most sensitive areas – part of her "punishment."

"Oh God," Rosamund panted. She'd almost forgotten how this form of foreplay built up such heat in her, an acute ache, her senses heightened and tingling, to where every touch, no matter where, sent electricity all through her. She longed to touch her husband, to reciprocate, and she clutched the scarf above her hands, her eyes closed tightly, fighting the urge to say the words that would free her – the other part of her "punishment." If she said the words now, it would break the enchantment he now wrought upon her, would throw paraffin on the slow-burning coals he carefully breathed upon, would keep them from igniting into glorious flame.

She most certainly did not want that.

After what felt like an excruciatingly lengthy time, even as delicious tingles of pleasure had begun to travel beneath Rosamund's skin, Marmaduke settled on his knees before her, ignoring his own straining arousal to concentrate upon her. Every moan and whimper, every twitch of her muscles at his touch sent a frisson of desire into his belly. But he knew that delay would not only prolong and intensify her pleasure, it would do the same for his own as well. So he stroked his hands along her legs, running his lips over the insides of her thighs, glancing up to watch her pert breasts rise and fall as Rosamund struggled to keep her breathing even.

Moving his head, Marmaduke ran his tongue over her hip through the lace of her panties. But when he reached the place she longed for him to touch, he merely withdrew his tongue and exhaled an extended warm breath over her.

He caught her hips as they bucked upward, accompanied by Rosamund's sharp squeak of need. Almost groaning himself, he said firmly, his breath continuing to feather heat over her, "Not yet, darling. Your punishment isn't over." The way she squirmed made him close his eyes, breathing heavily – which only made her wriggle even more.

"Please," she whimpered. "Marmaduke, please." Rosamund felt her blood pumping to the place his breath hit her, making her throb and ache.

When he thought she might be still long enough, Marmaduke slipped his fingers under her waistband and drew the panties down her legs, his knuckles lightly grazing her skin. Once he'd freed her of these and flicked them away, however, he resumed a tantalizingly slow worship of her legs and then her abdomen with his mouth, holding her hips still again.

After a while, hearing her pant and feeling her writhing growing more desperate, he stood and rested his hands on her waist, leaning down to kiss her. "Rosamund," he murmured. "Darling." He gazed down at her, her eyes beseeching him and her body straining toward his, flushed and glistening with perspiration. "My God, you're beautiful," he sighed, capturing her lips and finally bringing their skin into contact.

One of his arms encircled her waist, the bulge of his shorts pressing against her hipbone. Simultaneously, he slipped two fingers into her, his thumb engaging her above that. Rosamund cried out into his mouth, a profound moan from the back of her throat that reverberated all through his own body. That frisson of electricity licked into his belly again, and he felt himself harden even more at these sensations, the tightening of her thighs around his hand and the rocking of her hips, the intense convulsions around his fingers – and the knowledge that he'd brought her to a state where this one set of motions gave her instantaneous release.

Marmaduke continued to kiss her tenderly as she experienced this deliciously sustained climax, even as his own desire and agitation to bury himself inside her increased exponentially.

As Rosamund grew still, her breathing and heartbeat nearing a normal rate, Marmaduke stepped away only enough to remove his shorts. Rosamund opened her eyes and ran them from his face down his body and back to his eyes as he closed the distance between them again. Holding her gaze, he lifted one of her legs, moving his hand when she lifted it higher to wrap around his thighs and pull him closer. She gave him a little nod and whispered, "yes," indicating her readiness.

A deep groan escaped Marmaduke's lips when he entered her, his eyes closing in rapture. Cupping his hands under her bottom, he picked her up against him, and let out another moan as her legs cinched around his waist.

Her pleading pierced through his haze of pleasure and desire. "Marmaduke," she whined, her fingers grasping at the scarf ineffectually. "I need so much to touch you. Let me touch you."

Shifting his grasp so he balanced her between himself and the footboard, he kissed her as he reached up with one hand and yanked on the end of the silk band that dangled just below her bound wrists. As soon as she'd been freed, Rosamund sank her fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss and sighing happily when he held her firmly with both hands beneath her bottom once more.

The laugh at how her hands and fingers tingled with the return of the blood flow and feeling to them Rosamund had been about to emit died upon her lips when Marmaduke started thrusting into her with gusto, creating tingles of an entirely different sort. She glided her hands over his back, scraping her nails gently down and up along his skin. Their kisses became fevered, Marmaduke's tongue setting a similar cadence as the fervent upward motions of his hips. Rosamund's thighs bore into his waist as she met him stroke for stroke, and she was soon panting again, her fingers digging into his back while his fingers dug into her buttocks.

Rosamund's increasingly sharp gasps and her inability to concentrate upon kissing him anymore clued Marmaduke in that she had reached the edge already. He rested his head upon her shoulder, breathing heavily, closing his eyes as her fingers snaked up to settle in his hair.

When she climaxed the second time, Marmaduke thought his knees might buckle beneath him at the exquisite feeling of her. Backing carefully way from the foot of the bed, he held Rosamund tight against him as she continued to writhe and pant. Just as carefully, he lowered the two of them onto the loveseat in the corner, Rosamund pulling her legs around to rest on either side of him. Immediately, she put her hands on his face and pressed him back into the upholstery of the loveseat with her demanding kisses. Marmaduke groaned in bliss when she began riding him, her hands roaming down to his nipples, making him gasp at her touch.

Tangling his fingers into her red tresses, he remained content for the moment to have Rosamund do whatever she fancied, as he reaped such marvelous rewards simply by letting her do as she wanted. Eventually, though, he reached down between them, fondling her, uncertain how much longer he could hold out and greatly wishing to feel her shudder above him.

And then, she did. Rosamund sat down hard, grinding her hips into his lower body and kissing his face and neck. "Oh God," he moaned out as she took special care to clench her muscles around him even while they continued to convulse of their own accord. The combination proved his undoing, and he breathed her name into her throat, his head nuzzling into the hollow of her neck and his hands moving to encircle her waist and pull her close to him, his heart pounding wildly.

"Mmmm," she hummed, winding her arms around his neck and resting her cheek upon his hair.

Marmaduke smiled. "Mmm-hmmm," he agreed. Turning his head slightly and pressing a soft kiss to her neck, he said, "Something to repeat over our second honeymoon?"

Rosamund let out a rich chuckle. "They do say practice makes perfect."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I thought that was pretty perfect already." He rubbed a gentle thumb over her side.

"Then we'll have to see if we can improve upon perfection. I think it's a worthy experiment, don't you?"

"Oh yes, Rosamund. Very worthy."

Lifting his head to look at him, she caressed his face and smiled. "Because I thought it was pretty perfect too." Giving him a tender kiss, she whispered, "I'll have to be naughty again soon."

"Be as naughty as you like, Rosamund. I love you all the same. Perhaps more."

"I love you too, my sweet devil."

Carefully, Rosamund repositioned herself upon his lap, stretching out her legs and nestling into his arms, her head upon her chest. The day catching up with her finally, she fell asleep. Realizing this after a while, Marmaduke kissed her hair and gathered her up to deliver her to the bed, tucking her beneath the sheets. After turning out the lamps, he took his place next to her, cuddling her in his embrace and listening to her soft breathing until he sank into slumber himself.

* * *

When she woke the next morning, a supreme sense of calm and satisfaction attended Violet. Patrick's fingers brushed through her hair, his lips pressed to the top of her head. She squeezed his arm gently to signal to him that she had wakened, then tilted her head to look at him with a smile.

"Have you been awake long?" she asked.

"A little while. But I love holding you whilst you sleep. You're so peaceful." He returned her smile and grazed his fingertips over her temple, lifting her hair out of her face.

"I _feel_ very peaceful. So much that I don't want to get up." She closed her eyes and burrowed her face into his chest, breathing in the smells of tobacco smoke and oatmeal soap that clung to his skin.

"Then we won't."

"Patrick, we must. There are things to do –"

He interrupted her, pulling her closer. "So we'll let someone else do them. Today I propose that we lie abed and have our meals brought up to us, and we can get out of bed for dinner – or not."

Violet lifted her face to him again, her expression one of slight shock – and a not so carefully concealed hopefulness. "But what about cleaning up from the party? Patrick, we had a large number of guests here last night, and the havoc this wreaks upon the house –"

"Cora can supervise all that, Violet. She knows what to do. You know she does." He'd interrupted again, but he couldn't seem to help it. He didn't want their blissful reunion to end. Not for at least another day. Plus, he thought he detected Violet's inclination toward the idea.

She _was_ inclined. Over the past months, their lives had been filled with duty and obligation; she'd made sure hers contained plenty of that anyway, since it helped her to push away the growing sense that something had broken between them. For one day, she wanted to be indulgent and wholly selfish.

_Well_, she thought as she gazed at Patrick and raised her hand to caress his face, watching his eyes close happily at her touch, _not wholly selfish. _She recognized just then that giving up a day to him was exactly what he'd wanted for his birthday from her – and exactly what she hadn't done.

"Alright," Violet agreed, gratified when he smiled at her again. "Besides, I'm still sleepy." She kept her mouth closed over a yawn.

Patrick chuckled, continuing to thread his fingers into her hair lazily. "I might think so, since we had another romp only a few hours ago."

Extending her legs a bit, Violet grimaced, even as she gave a light laugh at his comment. "Yes, well, I'm paying for all that activity."

"I hope you still think it worth it, love."

"I do, Patrick. And it won't be long before it disappears."

"I'll have to help you work all that soreness out a little later. What do you say to that?" As Violet nodded and grinned, he reached over for the telephone. "But first, are you hungry?"

"Maybe a bit, but I'd rather sleep a while longer, if you don't mind."

Tilting his head down, he pressed a kiss to her lips. "Your wish is my command, my darling." Patrick pushed the button for the housekeeper's line and waited a few seconds before she answered. "Yes, good morning, Mrs. Wilkins. I wanted to inform you that Lady Grantham and I will be spending the day in our room." Violet listened to his brief chuckle. "No, no, we're perfectly well, but a bit exhausted from yesterday. If you'll have a tray of brunch sent up to us at ten-thirty, I think?" He glanced at Violet, who nodded. "Yes, ten-thirty, please. I'll telephone down this afternoon when we would like our tea, and we haven't decided whether we'll be at dinner or not. I'll let you know when I call later." She heard a faint voice from the other end of the line. "Yes, tell Thompson for me, please. And don't worry about supervision for the cleanup. I know Lady Downton will be more than happy to step forward for that task. She'll start after breakfast, I'd imagine. Thank you, Mrs. Wilkins."

Violet watched him depress the button to end the call, then hit another key.

"Cora? Yes, my dear, I'm sorry to wake you, but Violet and I have decided to take a day off." He paused to listen, and Violet could tell even from what little she heard that Cora still shook off sleep. "Well, she'd hoped that _you_ would take over for her today, to make certain everything gets back to being ship-shape and Bristol fashion after the party." Chuckling lightly, he grinned wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling most handsomely in Violet's opinion. "Yes, you did such a lovely job helping plan and execute the party that she thinks you can handle it on your own." He nodded, then answered a question from his daughter-in-law, "I'm uncertain whether we'll be downstairs for dinner, Cora darling. Will you be so kind as to make our apologies to the others? And again if we aren't at dinner?" Obviously, she agreed, since he continued. "Thank you, dear. Good day now."

He replaced the receiver and stroked a hand over Violet's arm as she grinned at him.

"All settled, love."

She nodded with a small sigh, still smiling.

"Are you nervous about leaving Cora alone to supervise?" he asked.

"No. You were right. She can do it. Besides, she won't be completely alone. Mrs. Wilkins and Thompson know what's what as well."

"Still, you and I – and Cora – know that it's a big step. And, I hope without sounding condescending, I want to say I'm proud of you, Violet. Cora wants you to put your faith in her. And so do I."

Violet hunkered down beneath the covers once more, her face against his chest and one of her arms stealing around his waist. "I know," she said with another sigh. She relished having his fingers playing with her hair, his other hand gliding up and down her arm.

Patrick simply held her for a while, feeling her heart beat against his side, her breath fan over his chest. He thought over the previous evening, a smile upon his lips. Then he remembered something. "Violet?" he whispered, in case she had fallen asleep.

"Yes?" she asked softly.

"Do you feel whole now?"

Despite her sleepiness, she propped her head up on her hand and gazed at him intensely, feeling his question deserved her full attention, recalling when she'd said that when things weren't right between them, she didn't feel whole. For a few seconds, she merely regarded him, meeting his eyes and slipping her fingers into his hair at the temple.

Patrick watched as slow smile crossed her lips, warming her eyes, and reaching into his very heart.

"Yes," she whispered. Tears pricked her eyelids, but she blinked them away. "Yes, my beloved." His breath caught at her using the rare endearment a second time in the space of only a few hours. "I feel whole now. You make me whole."


	14. Can't get enough

When the telephone rang, Cora jerked awake, fumbling for the receiver and answering, still half-asleep.

However, by the end of the short conversation, she'd fully awakened, her eyes bright and a smile upon her lips as she hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" Robert mumbled into her neck. He hadn't moved during the conversation, and Cora wasn't completely certain until he asked the question whether he was awake or not.

"It was Papa. He said that he and your mother are 'taking a day off' and that she wants me to supervise the cleaning up today." Cora sounded slightly incredulous, but excited nonetheless.

Robert hummed approvingly against her skin, tightening his arms around her waist. "That's wonderful, darling. I told you she would start trusting you more."

"You did." Cora nestled back into his embrace for a moment, grinning as his hands began roaming over her through her nightgown. "Robert," she intoned softly, "that feels very nice, but you know how meticulous your mother is. I really should get up."

"But, Cora," he breathed into her ear, "I _am_ up." He pressed his hips closer to her, rubbing himself lightly against her.

"Oh! Well, then, my dear, since we have a bit of time before breakfast…." Cora wriggled her behind, letting out a purr at the low moan this elicited from her husband.

"Minx," he whispered, moving his hands to fondle her breasts through the delicate fabric of her gown. Her answering trill gratified him, and he kissed her eagerly when she turned her head back toward him.

Robert's fingers grazed over her side and down to the hem of her nightdress, pulling it up. He found to his delight that she'd never put her underwear back on after their romp the night before. Rubbing her behind, he relished the soft noises of approbation and the way she pushed back against him. "Robert," she breathed, closing her eyes.

In answer, his hand slid down to fondle her more intimately, bringing a sharp gasp to her lips. Cora reached around and worked his shorts down carefully, running her fingers along the underside of his arousal, grinning when he buried his face between her shoulder blades with a throaty, "good God," and slipped two digits inside her.

Cora writhed, doing her level best to concentrate upon making her husband moan, even as he endeavored to do the same to her. Then a voice whispered in her ear – a tidbit of remembered conversation with Rosamund from the day before, an offhand comment she'd made about how thankful she was that the showers were large enough to accommodate two, accompanied by a toss of her red hair behind her and a wink to Marmaduke, who had smirked.

"Robert," Cora murmured, pulling his hand gently away from her and scooting to the edge of the bed. "Showers. We need showers." She lifted her night gown over her head and left it on the covers behind her as she moved toward the bathroom. Not hearing the rustle of bedclothes she expected, she turned, apprehending her husband's surprised and somewhat hurt visage. "What do you need?" she added in a crisp voice, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head at him. "An engraved invitation?"

The raising of her eyebrows and sashay in her steps once she spun around to head to the bathroom once more reaffixed Robert's grin, and he slid his shorts the rest of the way off, bounding up off the bed to follow her.

Cora had already turned the water on and walked into the shower. A mischievous smile played on her lips and brightened her eyes, and she crooked her finger at Robert. He stepped in, sliding the door shut, and immediately wrapped her in his arms under the pulsing, steamy water.

"Mmmm," she hummed as he kissed her hungrily, his hands trailing down to her buttocks to squeeze them and press her tighter against his hips and arousal. Breaking the kiss, she smirked at him, brushing her fingers over the dark curls on his chest. "We need to get clean, darling."

Dipping his head down, Robert nipped at her neck and kept kneading her behind. "I'd rather be dirty for a while, sweetheart" he growled into her ear, then took her earlobe between his lips, nibbling and suckling lightly.

"Oh no," she said, her tone teasing, and reached over for a bar of soap, rubbing it over his chest, her eyes gleaming in lust.

"Well, I won't object to that." He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes as the bar of soap as well as the pads of her fingers swept over first one nipple, then the other. Swallowing hard, he kept his eyes closed while she ran the bar over his stomach, her hand dangerously close to him. But she didn't touch him there, merely moved to start lathering his shoulders and down his arms, prompting him to let her go so she could wash them even to each fingertip.

Recognizing the futility of attempting to stop her – and the growing titillation of having her wash him so thoroughly – he opened his eyes to watch her extraordinary attention to his neck, his chin, then as she bent to lather soap along his legs and feet. When he touched her backside – the sight too tempting for him to pass up – she swatted at his hands in annoyance.

"I'm not finished yet, Robert. You'll have your chance, I assure you."

Having run the soap over his toes, she stood up straight again and looked into his eyes steadily. Leaning forward, she kissed him and glided a lathered hand along his length. Robert groaned into her mouth. But when he would have enclosed her in his arms again, she broke off the kiss and removed her hand, pointing to the spray of the shower just behind her.

"Rinse," she ordered, her face alight with mirth.

Stepping under the water, Robert asked hopefully, "And then your turn?"

"No. I haven't done your back yet."

Robert grunted as she cautiously pushed him from beneath the shower again, then closed his eyes once more when she began massaging the bar of soap into his back and neck, the fingers of her other hand working knots out of his muscles he hadn't realized were there. He sighed happily as she wove this magic over him, her hands trailing down with the soap. After she began ministrations to his bottom, however, he let out a groan of both satisfaction and desire, his arousal hardening.

As he moved his hand to touch himself, she startled him with a hissed, "don't" in his ear.

"Cora," he bleated, beginning to ache, "I need –"

"I know, darling. But don't," she repeated in a softer tone. "I promise it will be worth it." With another squeeze to his behind, she bent to glide her hands over the backs of his legs.

Robert shut his eyes tightly, his breathing heavy and his fingers beginning to tremble from the effort of keeping himself still. "Cora," he whimpered, "please."

Putting the soap aside, Cora cupped his cheek in one hand and pressed a soft kiss to his other. "Rinse," she said, moving away and opening the door to the shower.

Slightly bewildered, Robert did as she asked, and stood under the hot water, blinking as he watched her get two hand towels and return to the shower.

Gesturing for him to move forward a pace or two, her lips set in a smirk, she placed the folded towels just so in front of him, then knelt upon them.

His eyes widening in comprehension, Robert felt his heart race with anticipation. He looked around for something to hold onto, knowing that his knees might very well buckle, especially when, even just as she began, her tongue twirled around him in a particular way and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. "Oh God, Cora," he moaned, grasping at a towel bar blessedly within reach. With his other hand, he caressed the back of her head, twisting his fingers into her dark tresses as she grasped him with one hand and snaked the other around to knead a buttock.

Every moan dragged from his throat, every sigh, and even the sound of his heavy breaths fell on Cora's ears in a way that elated her, spurred her on. She utilized every bit of knowledge she had – of what he already liked, of new things she could test on him (many of which he seemed to enjoy _very_ well), and her own personal favorites – relishing how she could make him tremble before her. Loving how much pleasure she could give him.

Loving that he'd appeared to remember that their lovemaking could be solely about pleasure.

Robert's knuckles whitened, his grip on the shower bar tightening. Cora's attentions had gotten him completely undone. "Bloody hell, Cora," he exhaled. "Do you want…? Might you need…?" His eyes had rested upon her head, observing her, but he couldn't do that for very long before he had to close his eyes again, letting out a prolonged moan and clutching her hair as hard as he could without hurting her – or, at least, hoping he wasn't.

"No." Her voice reached him through his haze of bliss. "Just feel, my love. Just feel." She wrapped her lips around him again, and his answering low purr and the slight buck of his hips forward sent electricity all through her.

"Cora," he breathed, letting himself feel, as she'd wished, allowing ecstasy to course through him. In no time at all, he'd reached the pinnacle and cried out, moaning and breathing heavily. Then he felt Cora's arms embracing him, pressing against him. Robert wrapped limp arms around his wife, leaning against her as she placed kisses on his chin and throat. Humming contentedly, he blinked his eyes open and looked at her.

"Darling." She leaned up and kissed him on the mouth, her hand slipping up to comb through his wet hair.

When he finally broke the kiss, he remarked, "I think you've been doing some reading." His mouth curled into a grin.

"You think right, Robert."

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he pulled her backward with him into the shower again, grateful for the updated water heaters. "Your turn, my love. Such marvelous exertions deserve to be rewarded." His hand snaked down over her back and hip.

Cora caught it neatly with her own, kissing his cheek and saying, "That would be lovely, but there isn't time. Your mother trusted me, and I know she'll want me to begin right after breakfast. And you know I don't function quite as well without a full meal and copious amounts of coffee in the morning."

"But, sweetheart –"

She stilled his hand as he tried to move it again. Nibbling his ear, she muttered into it, "It can be my turn later, alright? I'm sure I'll be dirty again later." Grinning at him, she handed him the shampoo. "Here, I didn't wash your hair. Do that while I bathe, then you can go shave." She stepped close to him and said, "I very much enjoyed this, my darling." She kissed his cheek and picked up the soap, smiling at him.

He watched her for a moment, open-mouthed, as she began running the soap over her body, humming.

Turning to step beneath the water again, Cora chuckled. "I'll be done before you are at this rate." She rinsed and continued to giggle as he grinned and put some shampoo in his hand, giving her the bottle.

They washed their hair and turned the water off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping one another in towels. Sharing one more kiss, they parted to get ready for breakfast, both smiling widely.

* * *

Cora and Robert entered the dining room holding hands, still grinning. Rosamund, Marmaduke, and Isidore had all seated themselves with their breakfast, Isidore placing his napkin upon his lap, and Martha served herself at the end of the buffet. They all exchanged good mornings while Robert and Cora got their breakfast.

Once they'd all settled to eating, Rosamund looked up, her brow puckered. "It's unlike Mama and Papa to be so late. I wonder what's keeping them."

Putting down her orange juice glass, Cora piped up, "Oh, they sent their apologies. They'll be spending the day together in their room. Violet left me in charge today." Her eyes shone, and Robert took her hand, giving it a proud squeeze.

Martha chuckled, pausing in shoveling eggs into her mouth. "Thank God for that. If any two people needed to lock themselves into a room together and fu–"

"Martha!" Isidore shook his head at her, but he smirked.

Shrugging, she went back to cutting her ham.

Rosamund exchanged a look with Marmaduke, then cast her eyes to Isidore, who immediately sobered. How were they to tell everyone when her parents had ensconced themselves in their room for the day?

"Well," Cora said, wiping her mouth and standing after her hasty breakfast, "I should begin. There is a lot to do. But if I play my cards right, I could have everything done by lunch time, and then the six of us can spend the afternoon together. That is, if everyone would like that?"

The others nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm. But Cora took all as assent and, with a kiss upon Robert's cheek, hurried out the door to find Mrs. Wilkins.

"I would like to catch up on a few things as well, since Papa isn't at his desk. I'll see all of you at luncheon." Robert stood and left as well.

"What do we do?" Rosamund queried in a high-pitched voice very unlike her own.

Marmaduke slid his hand in hers and wrung it gently. He was aware that more delay would wear at Rosamund's tenuous resolve to tell her family.

"You could speak with just Cora and Robert today, Rosamund." Isidore pushed his plate away, his food suddenly unappetizing as he considered the weight still pressing upon the couple across the table from him and Martha. "It might make it easier, you know. To tell them first. I have a feeling they will be a sympathetic audience, and then you would have double the supporters with you when you tell your parents."

"And if they aren't supportive?" Rosamund said feebly.

Martha's silverware clanked onto her plate. "Rosamund Painswick, you know very well they will be. I've never had any doubts upon them. In fact, I like this plan more and more as I think about it. You should tell that pair straight after lunch." With a curt nod, she picked up her fork and knife to spear her ham once more, satisfied that she'd settled the matter.

Turning to her husband, Rosamund quietly asked, "What do you think?"

"I can see merit in it, Rosamund. What can it hurt?" Marmaduke clutched at her hand.

Rosamund nodded. "Alright," she whispered. "Might we take a walk in the gardens?"

Smiling softly, Marmaduke put his napkin on his plate. "Of course we may." He looked at Martha and Isidore. "If you'll excuse us?"

"Certainly," Isidore said as Martha waved her knife and smiled at him, her mouth full. Once they'd disappeared through the door, Isidore glanced at his wife. "And then there were two."

Having cleaned her plate, Martha pushed it away and wiped her mouth. "Yes. What shall we do until lunch?"

Leaning closer to her, he murmured, "I have a few ideas." Mindful of the footman attending the table, he did no more than brush his fingers over her shoulder.

"Well. I'd love to go someplace private and hear all about them, Issi." She smirked at him as he took her hand and led her from the room.

* * *

At the knock that came mid-morning, Patrick made certain to cover his still sleeping wife completely before wrapping his dressing gown around him and going to answer the door.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice to the maid and footman bringing up trays. He took first one tray and set it in the room, then the other, dismissing the pair and going back to the bed.

Sitting next to Violet's sleeping form, he bent down and kissed her cheek, then her shoulder, smiling when she stretched and rolled toward him, grinning. "I can't remember such a lovely sleep, Patrick," she remarked.

"I'm happy to hear that, darling one." He brushed strands of red hair from her face, smiling. "I hope you're hungry, because our brunch just arrived." He nodded toward the trays of food.

"Famished." Violet sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest with one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other, yawning. "I suppose a night of physical activity will do that to you, won't it?" She laughed.

"Well, it has to me," Patrick replied, pressing a kiss to her cheek and standing, walking over to her wardrobe. "Would you like your dressing gown?"

Violet nodded, coloring slightly. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been naked at ten-thirty in the morning. It felt scandalous and naughty – and rather wonderful she realized as he brought her the silk robe with a grin.

As she wrapped it about her, Patrick picked up one of the trays. "M'lady," he said with a chuckle when he set it down over her outstretched legs.

"Thank you." She waited, watching as he settled next to her with his own tray, then began to eat, making small noises of approval.

With each sound she uttered, Patrick's smile grew wider. It had been a long time since she'd been so enthusiastic over a meal, and he couldn't help enjoying her responses. After he'd rid himself of his own hunger pangs, he sneaked glimpses of her, amused and gratified by the appreciative expression that appeared on her face with every bite.

They ate in near silence for a while, until Violet put down her fork to sip at her tea. "What had you planned for this afternoon? Besides tea later?"

Patrick grinned and finished a mouthful of bread. "I think you may be missing the point of our day in together."

Violet put her hands on either side of her tray and turned a bit to look at him more fully, tilting her head at him. "Oh? And what is the point, hmmm? Besides getting a bit of rest?"

For a few seconds, Patrick's smile faltered. He wondered if he hadn't gotten the point completely across to her. But then he saw her lips twitch. Violet was teasing him – something, until last night, she hadn't done in many months. "Well," he said in a sultry voice, leaning closer to her, "I thought we could go over the house ledgers together."

Laughing now, Violet pushed his shoulder. "You're too much, Patrick Crawley." Shaking her head and smiling, she picked up her fork again. "But you must have had something in mind. Surely you didn't think we would sleep all day." She didn't look at him, but she smirked all the same, knowing full well he didn't think that.

Patrick drank from his own cup of tea, refilling it and then freshening her cup as well. "Oh, I think you know very well what I had in mind for at least part of the time, darling." He chuckled, stirring sugar into his tea. His voice became serious. "Violet, I'll do whatever you like. If you want to sit here and read for the rest of the afternoon, I will. If you wanted to try on every piece of clothing you own just to get my opinion on each one, then I would do that too. My only real plan was to spend time with you. However you would like." Remembering something just then, Patrick picked up his tray and set it on his nightstand so he could scramble out of bed.

"What on earth are you doing?" Violet asked as he rooted through the small piles of discarded clothes still on the floor from where they'd dropped and flung them the night before.

He let out a whoop of triumph when he located his tuxedo jacket and put his hand in one of the pockets, his fingers closing around an item there. "Although, I did bring this up with me," he said, extracting the item.

Violet grinned. "Our songs?"

Nodding, Patrick came back to the bed and set the disc down between them. "Just in case we wanted it for anything," he stated with a wide grin.

Meeting his grin, Violet colored. "I think it would be nice to dance together again. It's not too much, is it?" She loved being in his arms, moving along with him, but she didn't want to say so for some reason.

"Of course it isn't too much." He took one of her hands and kissed it, smiling at her. "Dancing with you is one of my favorite things, Violet love."

She blushed even more at this, lowering her lashes this time.

"Are you finished with brunch, darling?" he asked, not letting go of her hand, but gazing at her steadily.

Lifting her eyes to meet his, she nodded. "Well, maybe…." She picked up a roll and bit into it with a grin.

Kissing her hand once more, he took her tray and put it in the hallway, then did the same with his own. Violet handed him the cd as she ate her bread, watching as he put it into the player and picked up the remote. He approached her, extending his hand, his lips wreathed in a loving smile.

"May I have this dance, beautiful?"

Brushing her hands together to free them of any crumbs, she smiled in return and grasped his hand, swinging her legs over the side of the bed to stand in front of him. Patrick clicked the "play" button and tossed the remote into a chair. With a smirk, he wrapped an arm about her waist and laced his fingers through hers, pulling her close as the music began.

Violet chuckled, slipped her arm around his shoulders, and wove her fingers into his hair, guiding his head so his cheek rested against hers. They danced, their movements sinuous as they pressed their hips together, Patrick leading her around the room and crooning the lyrics into her ear in his rich baritone, which caused her to grin. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to simply feel happy and loved.

After a few dances, however, Patrick began to hold her even closer, to bend his head down to kiss her – soft, tender kisses, accompanied by gentle caresses. Soon, they weren't dancing at all; instead, they shared intense, passionate kisses, hands running over one another through their dressing gowns, a slow, steady flame increasing between them.

Then she sighed "Patrick" against his lips, and he couldn't be content simply continuing making out.

"Violet," he breathed, his hands trailing down to untie her dressing gown.

All of a sudden, however, his fingers stilled.

"Is something wrong?" Violet blinked her eyes open, concerned, but Patrick grinned at her.

Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, "Put on the dress again. Please?"

She blushed and murmured, "But, Patrick, it'll be wrinkled and –"

"Please? It'll be perfect. I want to see you in it again." He punctuated the request with another soft kiss and a prodding against her abdomen – a prodding that made her gasp out an "Oh!" of comprehension.

Coloring a trifle more, Violet grinned and gazed around the room until she saw the dress. With a waggle of her eyebrows, she plucked the garment from the floor and, before her husband could say another word, headed for the bathroom. She grazed her fingers beneath his chin as she passed him with a smirk. Patrick stared while she paused just in front of the bathroom door to ease her dressing gown down off her shoulders, then let it slide down her body to the floor, casting a coquettish glance behind her before disappearing with the dress, leaving her husband with his moan of desire.

As Violet opened the door again, to the strains of "Sexual Healing," Patrick's heart skipped a beat. She slid her hand up the door frame, leaning against it with a smirk and her other hand upon her hip. The dress hugged her slender curves as sensually as he remembered, but, when he stepped closer, he saw how her taut nipples strained against the silky fabric, and his breath caught.

"Sweet heaven," he murmured before crossing to her and crushing her to him. He bent her back in a dip for a kiss.

"Patrick!" She giggled and clung to his neck, looking up into his lust-darkened eyes.

Straightening up with her, Patrick started dancing with her again, moving her toward the bed.

Violet lifted an eyebrow and chucked. "Subtle, Patrick. Very subtle."

"Well, would you prefer for me to simply tell you everything I'd like to do next? I know you wanted to hear my plans." He pressed kisses to her neck, one arm encircling her waist and his other gliding over her breast to tweak a nipple.

Gasping at this, Violet's fingers strayed below his waist to twitch aside the folds of his dressing gown and curl around him. "I think it's perfectly clear," she whispered over his groan, "what your plan is. And I approve."

"But I have details." He nipped at her neck and hummed against her throat, cupping her breast more intentionally.

"Don't tell me." Violet murmured into his ear, her other hand cradling the back of his head so she could pull it up to kiss her again. Then she sighed against his lips, "I'd rather you show me."

She tugged at the knot in his dressing gown, pushing the silk down his arms to fall to the floor. "Darling," Patrick breathed, bending to tease her nipples through her dress, taking the peaks between his lips in turn, eliciting sharp gasps from his wife as he ran his hands over her thighs beneath her skirt.

Violet thought she might collapse with the delicious tremors he caused in her. She massaged along his shoulders, her fingers kneading into his flesh with tender desperation. "Patrick," came her low whimper, her body twisting toward his hot breath and leaning into his touch.

His eyes lifted to her blue ones, darkened to a much deeper hue. Standing straight once more, he moved his hands to cup her face and smiled at her. Violet's head tilted up instinctively as she stepped forward to remove even the small distance between them, the fabric of her dress flush against his skin. Patrick covered her lips with his, truly savoring how soft they were and how they tasted… well, of his own marvelous Violet.

They paused their kissing only long enough to divest Violet of the dress again. Pressing her back upon the bed, Patrick swept his hand through her hair and, as often as he looked at her with lust, he looked at her with love. "Do you have any new fantasies you'd like to enact, my sweet darling?" he asked in a low voice, stretched out on his side next to her.

She smiled at him, the backs of her fingers gliding over the rough of his cheek. "I thought you had a plan – complete with details." Her lips twitched with mirth.

Patrick's expression grew serious. "I'd change all my plans for you if it meant giving you what you want. As for details, well, I'm sure I would fit them all in." He grinned at her, running a light hand along her arm.

"What are these details?" she inquired, curious now.

Putting a finger to her lips, Patrick gave his head a small shake. "You wanted me to show you. And that's what I intend to do." He replaced the finger with his lips briefly, then drew back. "Now, for the matter of fantasies…." An eyebrow crooked upward.

The corners of Violet's eyes crinkled with her smile. "Patrick, this is already one of my fantasies." Her fingers continued to brush across his cheek. "Spending an afternoon alone with you, dancing and talking, laughing and making love – it's been a long time fantasy of mine."

A new light shone in Patrick's face. "It is? It has?"

Violet nodded, closing upon him for another kiss. Gazing at him again, she whispered, "Make love to me, Patrick. I'm interested in every one of those details you have in mind for us. Show me now, please?"

Without another word, Patrick's lips sealed to hers, his hands roaming over her body in order to show her every detail he'd imagined. Her high-pitched squeaks and low moans told him of her praise, and once she'd begun writhing from his attentions, he snaked a hand down between her legs, slipping his fingers inside her, stroking her in a practiced motion and sitting back a little to watch her face.

Barely able to think with what he was doing to her, nevertheless, Violet reached her own hand down to wrap around his length, letting out a trill when she felt him harden further at her touch. She continued to move her hand along his arousal until the ministrations of his fingers sent her to a place where she could no longer function, and the hand fell away from him to grasp at his forearm in bliss.

Once she'd calmed down, Patrick smiled and sat up, pulling her up as well. Violet's expression reflected a mild bewilderment, but an even stronger inquisitiveness. Settling back against pillows at the headboard, Patrick gestured that Violet should straddle him as she had the night before – his own fantasies having begun to feature this particular scenario. She smirked at him, and, without question, she maneuvered herself into place, letting out a moan of pure satisfaction once she'd taken him completely inside her.

As Patrick cupped her bottom, Violet started moving against him, running her hands along his chest and shoulders and gazing at him. But soon, as their tempo increased, Patrick helping her, her skin gleamed with moisture, and she slipped her arms around his neck and rested her head on one of them, panting. Suddenly she let out a sharp gasp and ground her hips into his, sending a frisson of electricity along his spine and into his abdomen.

Even more electricity shivered within him as he felt her climax. Moaning, he dipped his head to her neck to suckle there, his arms wrapping around her waist to press her as close to him as possible until she would be ready to move again. He couldn't help fidgeting impatiently, his hips wanting to thrust up into her once more as her shuddering subsided.

He grunted out an incoherent thanks to God when she resumed her deliberate motions. At first she gyrated her hips in slow circles, and he caught the smirk upon her lips just before she crushed them to his. Patrick leaned them back, his hands trailing up her spine to twist into her hair, the sweetness of her kisses and her measured rotations sending him into a most enthralling type of madness.

"Violet," he panted out, his voice gruff, when she turned her attentions to his jaw and throat. "You – beguiling – creature – I – mmmmmm…." He trailed off, her focus honing in on his chest.

For a while Patrick merely reclined back upon the pillows, his hands threaded through his wife's long, red tresses, and Violet continued with her enchantment, tucking every incoherent utterance and sigh of Patrick's into her heart as treasures.

Finally, Patrick bent his head and murmured into her hair, "My love, please… oh God…."

Violet felt his hips rise up slightly beneath her, and, knowing what he wanted, she lifted her face to his, wrapping her arms around him and nodding. With another kiss, she rolled her hips, delighting in his sharp gasp and then deep groan. Patrick's disentangled his hands from her hair and settled them under her buttocks, his fingers kneading into her flesh most pleasantly while he helped her increase their feverish coupling. Eventually, her arms slid from his neck to his shoulders, the heels of her hands digging into them, and he thrust into her forcefully, encouraged by her small cries of delight.

Then, these small cries transformed into a low, long groan, and Violet reached behind her to take one of Patrick's hands, bringing it around her and pressing his fingers against her, just above their joining. Patrick opened his eyes, watching her face as she climaxed once more, his name upon her lips. Seeing this, feeling her contract around him, her hand still clutching his, excited him so that he moaned his own release.

As they smiled lovingly at one another, Patrick pulling Violet back with him against the pillows, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace, the rapid beating of their hearts pressed to one another remained the only frenzied motion. Violet burrowed her head in the hollow between her husband's chin and chest, inhaling deeply of their mingled scents of lavender lotion and pipe tobacco, oatmeal soap and honeysuckle perfume. Patrick let out a soft hum of happiness, stroking his palm gently over one of her sides and coiling a lock of hair around the fingers of his other hand.

"Did I leave out any details?" His lips pressed tender kisses to the top of her head.

Patrick felt her grin upon his chest, the brush of her eyelashes against his skin. "I can't think of any. I'll certainly be fantasizing about this afternoon for a very – very – long time, I can assure you of that, Patrick."

"There is still plenty of afternoon left, darling," he murmured into her hair, realizing that the cd still played.

Violet chuckled. "Mmmm," she hummed. "I like that sound of that."

Patrick continued to hold her against him, playing with her hair, and singing softly along to the song: "I wanna love you night and day, you know my love a-not fade away…."


	15. If there's some left for you

Downstairs, lunch was subdued. Cora hadn't quite gotten everything done, and she kept going over everything in her mind, not wanting to overlook any small portion of her allotted task. Robert worried that she'd overexert herself. Of course, the Painswicks and Levinsons were quiet for an entirely different reason. The four kept exchanging looks among them – encouragement and fear, doubt and reassurance – and Marmaduke clasped Rosamund's hand tightly beneath the table.

When Cora leapt up yet again as soon as the meal had finished, impatient to continue with her appointed duties, Rosamund rose as well, addressing her sister-in-law. "Cora? Might you put that off for a little while longer? Marmaduke and I have something we need to share with the two of you, please."

Cora's eyes alighted upon Rosamund's face, but the sliver of hope for her sister- and brother-in-law died in the next seconds. "Oh, yes, of course, Rosamund." Even the expression on the other woman's face made Cora feel that her tasks for the day might not be as important as she had thought. At least, not as important as whatever they were about to hear.

"Thank you," Rosamund said. "Might we retire to the library? I – I think I could use a drink whilst we say this." She turned to Marmaduke, who nodded.

The six walked from dining room to library, Robert and Marmaduke pouring and serving various drinks, until all were seated. Cora wondered that her parents flanked Marmaduke and Rosamund, but didn't ask. She merely sipped her sherry and held Robert's hand in wait.

After a fortifying gulp of Scotch and soda, and an even more fortifying glance at her husband, Rosamund faced Robert and Cora – they having decided that Rosamund would tell these two, and Marmaduke would take on the elder Crawleys. With a deep sigh, she said as loudly as she could manage, "Marmaduke and I cannot have children."

Cora and Robert sat in stunned silence for a moment, Marmaduke pressing Rosamund's hand and Isidore patting her arm.

Then Cora leaned forward. "But – how – you've had the tests?" Her eyes were wide, and her heart had begun to race as she wrung Robert's hand. Robert's gaze had fallen to the floor between the settees.

"No," Rosamund said, her eyelids flickering in an attempt to contain her tears. "No, I've had miscarriages. Three."

Tears sprang to Cora's eyes. Without much thought to it, she placed her sherry glass down on the table beside her and clutched at Robert's hand with both of hers. "Rosamund, why didn't you tell me – tell us?" She remembered a few days prior, how she'd worried about Rosamund's "illnesses," and how Rosamund had reacted. Cora believed she knew now the reason behind such a reaction.

Taking a deep breath, Rosamund glanced at her husband, then back to Cora and Robert. "I couldn't. It was too hard. I wanted to have hope, and I didn't want anyone pitying us."

"But you might have had someone to talk to." Cora trained her eyes on Rosamund's face, unmindful of the moisture making her cheeks glisten.

"No." Rosamund sighed, shaking her head. "I couldn't talk to anyone. It's taken me months even to talk with Marmaduke about it." She grasped her husband's hand tighter. "Your parents helped us, helped me. I owe them a debt of gratitude." She looked from one to another with a sad smile.

Cora stared at her parents in awe, then in appreciation. She knew herself how much they could help people – once they were allowed to.

"I had another reason not to tell you in particular, Cora," Rosamund said softly.

"Me?" Cora sat back a little, mystified.

Rosamund nodded. "I didn't want to frighten you."

"To frighten…." Cora blinked and looked down. Because Rosamund's news had already planted a seed of fear in her gut. She shifted uncomfortably on the settee. "I understand. I'm sorry it kept you from telling me, though."

A silence fell over the group until Robert finally lifted his eyes, his forehead puckered. "But, I don't understand how having three miscarriages equals to not being able to have children."

Marmaduke cleared his throat. "The doctor was concerned about the toll it would take on Rosamund – both physically and emotionally – if she had any more miscarriages. And he thinks, based on the circumstances thus far, that she can't carry a child to its full term." He rested his gaze upon Rosamund's face which was bent down to look at their hands in her lap. "He recommended we not try again. As much as it pained us, I couldn't risk Rosamund's health."

The crease between Robert's eyes deepened. "What about other options?"

"Yes," Cora said. "Surrogacy or –" Marmaduke's head shake stopped her.

"We agreed that seeing someone else carry our child would be too painful. And, well, we might end up adopting someday, but we don't know yet." He shrugged, wringing his wife's hand in his own. She appeared unable to speak any more.

Robert observed this, his eyes becoming very round. "So you – Rosamund, you had –" He couldn't seem to say the word.

Marmaduke shook his head again, looking at Robert. "No. She didn't. I couldn't let her go through such an invasive surgery. Not after all she's been through."

"So you – with the…." Robert moved his whiskey glass up and down in front of his middle, his eyes still wide.

Had the situation not been as serious as it was, Marmaduke might have laughed at the expression on his brother-in-law's face. "Yes. I did. It felt like the right thing to do." At the grimace that crossed Robert's countenance coupled with the slight shiver he detected, Marmaduke smiled. "It's not that bad. The procedure is over in a trice, and the recovery, although no picnic, was much easier for me than it would have been for Rosamund." His eyes softened as he turned his head back to his wife. "And I'm fine now."

Robert nodded, letting out a long sigh before taking another drink of Scotch.

"Have you told Mama and Papa?" Cora asked.

"No." Rosamund's voice had returned. "We were going to tell all of you today, but then they decided to stay upstairs…. This might have been for the better anyway." She managed a tiny smile.

"So Daddy and Momma have known for…?"

Martha and Isidore shared a nod. "Marmaduke came to speak to me Christmas night," Martha said. "He wasn't sure what else to do, and since we'd offered –" she ended with a shrug. "I didn't tell Issi, though. Marmaduke swore me to silence."

"I learned a few days ago," Isidore continued. "Rosamund told me." He squeezed her arm. "But they needed to work through some things together before they felt they could tell anyone else. Even the two of you."

Cora sighed. "I understand." Her tears started to fall once more. "Oh, Rosamund, Marmaduke, I'm so sorry. I know you wanted children very much."

Rosamund met Cora's eyes with a small nod. She hadn't wanted sympathy. But perhaps a little comfort wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

After a bit of chatting, a few embraces, and a few more tears, Rosamund felt drained of all energy and simply wanted to be alone with her husband again.

"Cora, I think you could go back to finishing the cleanup now." She gave her sister-in-law an encouraging smile.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I confess I'd forgotten it. Are you sure?" Cora sat next to Rosamund now, holding her hands, and gave her a look of concern.

"Yes. I'm rather tired, to be honest, and I would like to rest for a while – whilst you complete everything."

Standing, Cora clung to Rosamund's hands, a gleam of hope in her eyes. "Then might we all do something together? Go to a film in the village before dinner, perhaps?" She knew Rosamund might not be in the mood to do much else.

Rosamund smiled. "Okay, Cora. I think that sounds nice, if the others agree."

Cora glanced around, happy at their nods. "Pick a film, and Robert will check the times. Right, darling?" She leaned down to kiss Rosamund's cheek.

"Yes, Cora," Robert said from behind her, smiling at his sister.

He watched her bustle out, then turned his face to Rosamund. "You don't have to go if you don't want, Rosamund. I can always distract her."

"No, brother. It's alright. Perhaps it will be a nice distraction for _me_. And I can tell she wants to help somehow. I mean, how else can she?" She looked up at him, putting out a hand, palm up, and shrugging her shoulders. "Besides, I keep thinking about Mama and Papa's reactions, and it's driving me mad."

"They could surprise you," Martha offered from the liquor cabinet, where she'd been pouring herself a fresh drink. Everyone turned to stare at her, but, whereas the three young ones sported expressions of incredulity, Isidore grinned.

"Even Violet?" Marmaduke queried, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, even Violet." Martha rejoined her husband, standing next to where he sat, covering his hand with hers when he snaked his arm around her waist and pressed his cheek to her hip with a smile. "Didn't she surprise you last night?" she pointed out before having a long drink of her whiskey.

Rosamund groaned. "God, don't remind me, Martha."

But Martha laughed. "I wasn't even thinking of that. Although – " At Isidore's arm squeezing her and his soft chuckle, she left the thought uncompleted. "I meant during the party – how happy she was – and afterward, thanking the two of you, Rosamund. You didn't expect that, did you?"

"Well, no," Rosamund assented grudgingly, studying her hands. "But she's been going on about this for so long…." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. But I cannot help thinking of all the disparaging things she'll say to me – about me – and possibly about Marmaduke."

Leaving Isidore's embrace with a press to his hand, Martha handed him her drink and crossed the room to Rosamund. She tilted the younger woman's head up, the tips of her fingers beneath her chin, and locked eyes with her, her visage all seriousness now. "Your mother can be very harsh and unfeeling, even cruel in the things she says. I would be stupid to deny that. But she isn't a bad person. I don't even think she's a bad mother, on the whole. Sometimes I want to strangle her, but she has difficulty dealing with things she cannot control. And she ends up taking it out on the people she loves. I think you know this, Rosamund. Both how she is – and that she does, in fact, love you. And your brother. She just has trouble showing it." She moved her hand up to cup Rosamund's cheek in a motherly gesture, her eyes softening. "I want to hold out hope for her. That she'll be what you need her to be – or at least stand out of the way so others can, if she finds she cannot. Because when people perceive that others don't think they can change or grow, they stop trying. Give her a chance, Rosamund, hmm?"

The others in the room joined Rosamund in blinking at Martha in mild astonishment. Unsure what else to say to this speech, she merely nodded.

"Now, sweetheart, let Marmaduke take you upstairs," she whispered. "I know how hard this was for you."

Tears stinging her eyes, Rosamund nodded once more. When Martha stepped back, Rosamund caught at her hand, pressing it gently. "Thank you," she said softly, then looked at Isidore. "Thank you both."

Isidore inclined his head with a smile, and Martha bent to kiss Rosamund's forehead – something the younger woman usually only allowed her husband and father to do. But she allowed it this time, too full of gratitude to protest.

Marmaduke led his wife from the room, mouthing thanks behind him and nodding to Robert.

"Well," Robert said, getting up from his chair to stand at the liquor cabinet, undecided as to whether he should have another or not. "That explains much of their behavior over the last year or so."

"It's a lot to bear, to go through, Robert." Isidore handed Martha's glass back to her and kissed her other hand as she sat beside him. "They're making a start though. We think they'll come through, in the end. Right, Martha?"

"That's right, Issi." She smiled at him, then addressed a question to Robert's hunched shoulders. "And you and Cora? How are the pair of you doing?"

Robert couldn't keep the grin from playing about his lips. He turned and said, "Oh, I think we're doing just fine."

Martha chuckled. "I think, from the look on your face, that it's a fair bit better than 'just fine.'"

"Well, let's simply say that I took your advice, Martha. And we're getting along a vast deal more amiably than we were." He hadn't expected to blush.

"I'm going to guess that's good news for my princess." Isidore squeezed Martha's hand.

"Oh yes, it's –"

"Lord Downton!"

The heads of the three snapped toward the library doorway, where the housekeeper, Mrs. Wilkins, stood wringing her hands together in agitation.

"I'm so sorry, my lord, to interrupt, but it's Lady Downton; she's collapsed!"

Robert immediately rushed to the housekeeper, his in-laws in his wake. "Where? Take me to her." Once she'd inclined her head at him and spun on her heel, hurrying in front of him, Robert fired questions at her. "What happened? Is she hurt? What's being done? Has anyone called the doctor?" He nearly stepped on her heels several times in his haste to get to his wife. A flame of fear had ignited behind his navel, the blaze sending sparks even up to his esophagus and threatening to engulf his heart.

Mrs. Wilkins answered as best she could while leading them to one of the small sitting rooms generally used for discussions of household matters. "Her ladyship said she felt a bit tired and faint, then fell over in a heap on the settee. 'Twas lucky she fell upon that rather than the floor, my lord. She appears unhurt, but I sent Randall to call the doctor. Thompson is with her now."

Once they got to the room, Robert nearly shoved the housekeeper aside to get to his wife. "Oh God, Cora," he breathed, crossing over to where she lay upon the settee. She'd woken and had started to lever herself up with one of her arms. "Sweetheart, don't move." Robert sat down and guided her head to his lap, then rested one hand on her cheek, groping with the other for one of hers.

"Robert, darling, don't fuss," she said, taking the free hand and lacing their fingers together. "I just fainted for a few minutes. I'm perfectly fine." She smiled up at him.

"'Just fainted for a few minutes'? Cora, that's still not good. Randall has called the doctor, and I want you to let him look at you."

"But, Robert –"

"But me no buts, Cora. I insist." His words were obstinate, but his tone was soft, belying his concern. Tender fingers stroked over her cheek with feather-light a touch, and his eyes reflected anxiety.

"Yes, let him examine you, Cora," Martha interjected. "It'll make all of us feel better."

Cora turned her head slightly to smile at her mother and father. "Yes, I will. But I do feel fine. Perhaps a bit too much sherry after lunch."

Robert exchanged a look with his in-laws, his eyebrows high. "Cora, you had hardly three sips of that sherry. I think you've been working too hard today."

"No, I haven't, Robert, and I'm not done yet. I'm fine, and I said the doctor could examine me, so I should sit up," she said, endeavoring to put her words into action, "and keep –"

"Cora, absolutely not," Robert said, much more sternly this time. "You've fainted – at the very least – and I can't have you tiring yourself to that point again."

Martha and Isidore glanced at one another, knowing their daughter.

"Robert, this is ludicrous. Let me up!" He'd put a hand on her shoulder, preventing her from rising.

"Stop wriggling, please," he replied, his voice as even as he could make it, well aware that the servants stared at them now.

"I will if you let me sit up." Cora glared at him.

"Fine," he acquiesced, taking his hand off her shoulder. But he didn't let go of her hand.

Swinging her legs off the settee, Cora sat up, taking a deep breath and waiting to make sure she didn't feel anything strange. But, just as she had lying down, she felt completely fine now.

"Your ladyship," Mrs. Wilkins volunteered, "Mr. Thompson and I can handle the rest, I think. Your instructions are clear enough now. And we can come consult you if we have questions about anything."

Robert answered before Cora could. "See? You don't need to do more, Cora. Thank you, Mrs. Wilkins." He turned a triumphant look onto his wife.

"Are you sure, Mrs. Wilkins? I – I don't want Lady Grantham to be disappointed –" She stopped short of adding "in me," biting her lip.

"I assure you, Lady Downton, she won't." Mrs. Wilkins smiled at Cora. "And it's not my place to say, but I do agree with Lord Downton that you should rest."

"Alright then. Thank you, Mrs. Wilkins." She nodded and grinned at her and Thompson.

"We will take care of everything, your ladyship." The housekeeper crooked her head at the butler, and the two left the room.

"You listen to her, but not to me?" Robert muttered at his wife, even though he was more relieved than annoyed.

"Darling, don't take it that way."

"Never mind," he said pathetically. "Let's get you upstairs and into bed."

Cora sighed. "Robert, I don't need to go up to bed. I told you I'm fine. The doctor can talk to me right here."

"But you –"

"Robert. Stop treating me like a child." She turned eyes like daggers on him, her voice hard.

He cleared his throat, coloring. "I apologize, Cora. I didn't realize I was."

"She's always been headstrong, this one," Martha commented, flopping down in a chair. "Do you mind if we wait on the doctor with you?"

"No, I don't mind, Momma." Cora smiled at her mother and father and settled back against the settee. When Robert lifted her hand to his lips, contrition in his eyes, she smiled at him as well, squeezing his hand in understanding and forgiveness.

Another altercation arose with the arrival of the doctor, Robert attempting to insist upon staying with her in the room. Finally Martha and Isidore drew him into the hallway and closed the door.

"What's the matter with you?" Martha inquired with a furrowed brow.

Robert gesticulated as he spoke. "With me? I don't understand why she won't rest or let me be there while she speaks to the doctor. Are these truly outrageous requests?"

"Not necessarily," said Isidore. "But she told you she was fine, and you don't seem to believe her."

"I'm merely looking out after her. I don't want anything to happen to her." Robert looked down.

Martha put a hand on his arm. "Rosamund's disclosure shook you, didn't it?"

Nodding, Robert murmured, "Yes."

"That's perfectly understandable, Robert. But you can't prevent things like that from happening by being overprotective. You might, however, alienate Cora."

Lifting his head, Robert nodded again at his mother-in-law. "I know you're right. I can't seem to help it sometimes, though."

"Also understandable. But you have to listen to her. Yes?" Martha smiled at him.

"Yes." He sighed.

Isidore slipped his hand into Martha's. "We'll leave you to wait, Robert, and go tell the others what happened."

"Okay." Robert watched them stroll together down the corridor and leaned against the wall to wait.

* * *

"Should we tell Marmaduke and Rosamund or Patrick and Violet first?" Isidore asked as they ascended the stairs.

Martha shrugged. "Six in one hand, a half dozen in the other." She pointed to a door. "But Violet and Patrick's room is closer."

Isidore nodded and led her to correct room. But when he raised his hand to knock upon it, the sounds he heard from the other side arrested his motion. "Martha," he muttered, "is that what I think it is?"

Already having applied her ear to the panel, Martha let out a low laugh. "Yep. They're fucking. Going at it like wild animals. Beautiful, isn't it?" She grinned at her husband.

"Martha, come away from there. Let them be." Isidore tugged at her hand.

But she stayed put, her eyes widening. "Oh, I'm pretty sure Violet got to page 37 in the book."

"And why do you say that?" he asked, matching her hushed tones.

"Can't you tell?"

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable eavesdropping, Martha."

"Nonsense, Issi. Put it down to research."

"Research?" His eyebrows nearly met his hairline.

Martha rolled her eyes, stepping away from the door. "Obviously, Iss. Do you honestly think that these two are going to follow up with us on their progress?"

Isidore thought a moment. "Possibly. But, well, I don't know."

"Stay here," Martha said, leaving a bewildered Isidore standing in the hallway as she made her way to their room at the end of the hall.

Upon her return she put her ear back to the door – this time with a glass.

"Marthaaaaa," Isidore hissed, chuckling in spite of himself. It was so very like his wife to do such a thing.

"Don't worry," she whispered, "I brought you one too." With a wide grin, she held out the other glass to him.

Isidore shook his head, but took the glass from her, using it to amplify the noises coming from the other side.

"Goodness," he whispered some minutes later. "I applaud Patrick's technique, if what I hear is anything to go by."

"What did I tell you, Issi?" Martha bit down on her tongue to contain a loud "whoop." "And – page 37 – wouldn't you say? Violet has definitely gotten that down pat."

"And Patrick is certainly reaping the rewards, isn't he?" Isidore smirked at his wife, entering into the spirit of their "research."

"Yes, and I give him props for staying power," Martha said, her admiration clear. At Isidore's – mostly teasing – look, Martha amended, "Nothing compared to yours, of course." She leaned forward and kissed him, then winked as she put her glass back to the door.

"Well, it's nice, though. All jokes aside, they needed this time together."

"You're right about that." Her eyes moved from his face back to the door. "Oh – here we go. I think that deserves an 8.5 out of 10 at the very least, Issi."

"Wait – what Patrick did or what Violet did? Both were quite impressive."

"Violet that time."

"Definitely, 8.5. And what about this new thing of Pat's?" He drew his brows together. "You know, I'm not sure I am aware of that one. I might have to get him to tell me about it. Based on Violet's – very positive – response, I'm inclined to give it a 9.5. Possibly a 10, depending upon –" He paused, his eyes growing very round. "Daaaammmmn." He let out a low whistle. "A 10."

Martha chuckled. "You're telling me Patrick is in there doing something you don't know about?" She adjusted her glass. "And, yes, I agree about the 10."

"I don't know everything, Martha. And wouldn't it get boring if I did?"

"No," she replied firmly. "Never boring with you. Oh! A solid 9 to Violet for that. Hell, I think I underestimated her."

Isidore shook his head slightly, his face full of mirth. "I feel like we're judging the sex Olympics or something, Marth. Isn't this rather bizarre? Even for us?"

"Hush, Issi, I can't hear." Martha pushed her ear into the glass, blinking hard. Suddenly she shouted, "Fuck yes, Violet! You nailed that one!"

Martha's hand flew to her mouth, and they both froze. "Do you think they heard?" Isidore asked.

Separating her fingers enough to speak through them, Martha answered, "Whether they did or not, they're still going at it."

"Do you think they'd like knowing we were standing here listening?"

"You know the answer to that, Iss. What should we do?"

"Run." Isidore chuckled, stood up straight, grabbed Martha's hand, and yanked her away from door. Her laughter could be heard floating down the hall behind them as they ran to Rosamund and Marmaduke's bedroom.

At the knock, Marmaduke got up and opened the door, letting in the Levinsons. "Is Cora finished already?" He smiled at their expressions of glee and looked back to Rosamund, perched upon the window seat.

"Well, yes and no." Martha sat on one of the chairs in the room, crossing her legs. "She's done with supervising the cleanup, but it's because she fainted."

Rosamund straightened. "Is she alright?"

"She'll be fine," Isidore said, with a small wave. "The doctor is checking her now, just in case."

"Robert probably won't want her to leave the house, though," Martha added. "Perhaps he'll let us play cards or something downstairs." She chuckled.

Marmaduke crossed the room to sit next to his wife again, taking her hand. "Anything is better than sitting up here by ourselves, worrying about what Violet and Patrick might say to us."

Isidore began laughing. At Rosamund and Marmaduke's puzzled visages, Martha explained, "I think they're going to be in better moods than you can imagine."

The younger couple exchanged another bewildered look. "Why do you say that?" Rosamund queried.

"Oh, just something we heard," Martha said with a dismissive flutter of her hand, grinning when Isidore laughed harder.

While Marmaduke and Rosamund shrugged at one another, Isidore choked out, "Trust us."

* * *

Violet and Patrick kept to their room for the rest of the day. When the others gathered in the library for before dinner drinks, Martha sent a knowing smirk to her husband, who winked in return.

The doctor had assured Robert that all was well with Cora. But they hadn't gone out as they'd planned. Instead, the company spent a lazy afternoon playing card games and swapping amusing stories. In their endeavor to keep their minds off troubling things, they were largely successful, to the surprise of nearly all of them.

Dinner proved almost as successful, Cora happy with Mrs. Wilkins' and Thompson's reports that everything had been completed and Robert happy with the obvious feeling of pride she had. Rosamund and Marmaduke breathed sighs of relief that they could put off telling the elder Crawleys their news. Martha and Isidore couldn't stop chuckling when they thought about their "research."

Toward the end of the meal, Cora wiped her mouth and put her napkin beside her plate. "I hope it's alright that Momma and I will be gone until at least tea time tomorrow." She looked up at Rosamund and Marmaduke.

Robert furrowed his brow. "Cora, what are you talking about?"

Martha and Isidore also looked at their daughter askance.

Cora smiled at him. "Oh, didn't I tell you, darling? Momma asked me to go with her to London. She wanted to find a new outfit for our New Year's Eve dinner." She turned to her mother, shooting her a meaningful look. "Isn't that right, Momma?"

Shrugging slightly, Martha said, "Yes?"

"And you neglected to tell me?" Robert's eyes were glued to Cora, his tone wounded.

"I'm sorry, Robert," she said in a low voice, taking his hand. "It slipped my mind. Forgive me?"

"I forgive you, Cora, but are you sure you are up to it? You fainted today –"

"I _told_ you, Robert – and the doctor told you – that I am fine. And Momma will be with me."

Robert sighed. "Alright, my dear." He pressed her hand and gave her a small smile.

Once in the library, Martha drew her daughter away from the others. "Cora, I know I'm getting older, but I'm certainly not senile yet. What the hell are you talking about, our going to London tomorrow? Did it slip your mind to tell me too?" She raised her brows and put her hands on her hips.

Cora's eyes flitted to where the men lit up cigars next to the liquor cabinet. "Momma, I apologize, but I need to run an important errand in London, and I need you to go with me. I don't want to worry Robert unnecessarily, because I don't know exactly how it will turn out –"

"Cora," Martha interrupted. "You're babbling."

Robert's gaze found the mother and daughter, and he smiled at his wife. "I'm sorry. I just – can I tell you the details later? But I need you to go with me. Please, will you? We can catch the early train. I don't want to be there any longer than we have to."

"Early? Cora, you know how much I hate getting up to catch things at early hours," she grumbled.

"We can go to Selfridge's…" Cora said, clasping her mother's hand.

"Well, okay."

Cora kissed Martha's cheek. "We have to get you a new outfit anyway. Since that's what we're supposedly there for." Grinning, Cora went to join Rosamund on the settee, leaving her mother shaking her head.

* * *

Robert closed his eyes and stood under the spray, letting the hot water stream over him and running the bar of soap over his skin to rid himself of the smell of cigars. The events and news of the day swam about in his head, and for a while his forehead puckered, thinking of Cora's faint and subsequent insistence that she was fine, of Rosamund and Marmaduke's sad news, and of Cora's sudden announcement that she and her mother were off to London early in the morning.

As he lathered shampoo into his hair, however, his thoughts strayed more and more to his last shower, that morning, and the magic Cora had wrought over him. Just recalling her hands and lips, mouth and tongue on him made his blood quicken.

He heard the glass door open and shut just as he was doing a final rinse. Opening his eyes, he beheld Cora standing in the shower with him. "Um, Cora? What are you doing?"

Cora raised her brows. "I should think that obvious, Robert. I'm taking a shower. I have to leave very early in the morning, so it's better to go ahead and do it now." She stepped close to him, maneuvering herself under the water, and leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Besides, I think you owe me from this morning." She brushed her fingers over him as she lifted her hands to comb through his wet hair.

Closing his eyes, Robert willed himself to be calm – difficult, seeing as he'd already been fantasizing about their morning. "Cora," he said in a voice much breathier than he meant, "are you su-"

She put two fingers to his lips. "Don't finish that question, please. If I felt even one bit tired or unwell, I'd be in bed, not here." Replacing her fingers with her own lips, she kissed him softly, wrapping her arm about his neck. "Don't you want to lather me up, darling?"

Robert swallowed hard, his arms stealing around her waist in an involuntary motion. "You have no idea how much, my heart."

Chuckling, Cora fell back a pace, tracing her fingers over his jaw. "You'd better get started, then. We don't want to be up too late." Then she giggled.

"No, we wouldn't want that." Robert gave her a wide grin as he picked up the bar of soap and guided her out of the spray. He began just as she had with him, running the bar over her chest and grazing his fingers over her nipples. Her sweet sighs elated him, and he continued over her arms and hands with gentle, tender passes.

"Mmmmm," she hummed, her eyes closed. "That feels nice, Robert." As he moved ever downward, shivers danced upon her back and along the nape of her neck, and she smiled.

Robert's fingers glided between her thighs only briefly, and Cora whimpered. "Rinse, darling," he whispered in her ear.

When she opened her eyes, Cora caught a most mischievous look on her husband's face. Taking this as a good omen, she did as he asked, and stepped back into the water with a smirk, running her hands along her body and noting the marked effect it had on him. Pulling her from beneath the water, Robert enclosed her in his arms and kissed her intensely, massaging the bar of soap into her back and over her shoulders. Cora pressed herself against him with deliberate movements of her hips until he forgot what he was doing and simply dug his hands and the soap into the small of her back.

"Robert," she purred, "I need to be dirty for a while longer." She coaxed him backward into the spray with her, rinsing her back, before he could even say anything. Then she broke away from him and stood with her front facing the wall of the shower, her head resting on her crossed arms, her face coy and inviting.

He gaped at her a moment, breathless as he always was when she did something like this. But when she wriggled her behind, he wasted no time in placing the soap in its dish and taking his place behind her. Immediately his hands travelled down her body, accompanied by her gasps and sighs, alighting between her thighs and beginning to stroke her lightly.

"More, darling," she breathed, grinding herself against his fingers.

While complying, Robert still kept his touches slightly toying, avoiding slipping inside her. Instead, he brought a hand up to cup her breasts and ran his tongue over her shoulder blades and the nape of her neck until she began writhing and mewling with need.

But as he was about to insert his fingers, she stilled his hand. "No." She twisted her head around so she could see him. "I need you, Robert. Please…." Punctuating the request with a press of her hips back against his groin, Cora hummed happily when he groaned, even as she panted with the need and heat built up in her.

"As you wish, darling one," he murmured into her ear. Nibbling upon her earlobe, he situated himself between her legs and pushed into her, gratified to feel her around him, to hear her breathy sigh of delight.

"God, you feel wonderful." Cora wriggled her hips and guided one of his hands downward as she wove her fingers through those of his other hand. She rested her head down on her arm again once his fingertips fluttered over her.

He breathed out a nearly incoherent "my sentiments exactly." Letting out a long moan, he nipped at the back of her neck, thrusting into her with long, deep strokes.

Squeezing his hand in hers, Cora moved her hips along with him until she could no longer stir, her legs shaking with her release and her chest heaving. Robert didn't stop, but circled his fingers against her and increased his tempo, the muscles of his buttocks flexing with the effort.

"Yes, my love… yes, my love," he chanted in her ear until she arched back against him, crying out as she rode a new wave of pleasure and evoked a deep moan from him.

"Oh God," she exhaled, clenching her muscles to encourage him to stay still for a moment.

Once she did this, however, she sent Robert spinning over the edge. "Oh God," he echoed, pushing into her one last time with a grunt of absolute euphoria.

Turning her head, Cora brought Robert's hand to her lips, kissing the back of it, then the heel of it, followed by his wrist, with great tenderness as she caught her breath. Robert brought his other hand from between her legs and wrapped it around her waist, brushing his lips across her shoulders before nuzzling his face into her neck with a soft purr. For a while, they simply stayed like this, sharing caresses and loving words.

Once he'd recovered, Robert whispered against her neck, "Shall we get you clean again now, darling?" as he ran gentle fingers over her ribs.

Cora let go of his hand and spun around in his arms, leaning back against the shower wall. Slipping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close and nibbled his earlobe.

"Not yet," Cora murmured, her breath hot against Robert's skin. "Not just yet."


	16. Another kiss is what it takes

She always woke him in the same way when she had her dreams. In the grey shadows of the pre-dawn Isidore would discover Martha's head buried in his chest, this pressure joining her small whimpers in tearing him away from slumber. He never tried to wake her, simply held her within his embrace and tucked her auburn head beneath his chin, waiting.

It happened only once or twice a month, but served as another reminder to Isidore that behind his wife's easy-going, rough-and-tumble exterior lay a person who felt very deeply. Sometimes Martha related the dreams, which always appeared to have a common theme: the hurt and pain they saw in their practice. Because, true, they centered on sex therapy, but the wider context of their work involved couples counseling and treating victims of abuse.

When Martha did tell him the contents of a dream, Isidore would enfold her in his arms, run his fingers along her back, and listen. She didn't need him to analyze them; she could do that just as well herself. She simply needed someone to tell them to, someone who understood why the contents haunted her subconscious at times.

So, on the last day of the year, as Isidore felt the burrowing upon his chest and heard Martha's soft, low cries waking him, he behaved as he always did. He'd wondered if she might have one of her dreams, triggered by the stories they'd heard, and particularly by the circumstances of Rosamund and Marmaduke. She'd shown so much strength for them, but Isidore knew how it could wear on her, even if she weren't aware of it herself.

Within a few moments Martha had woken as well, and she nuzzled her face against his skin, letting out a long sigh.

"One of your dreams?" Isidore pressed his lips to her hair.

Martha nodded, not lifting her head otherwise.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He felt the ends of her short cropped hair flick his chest as she shook her head.

Isidore bent his head lower, close to her ear, and whispered, "What do you need, my love?"

Her palms brushed against his skin as she slipped her arms around her husband and hugged him to herself. "I have what I need," she murmured.

After listening to her breathe for a few moments, he asked, "Do you think you can go back to sleep for a while? You still have another hour or so before you have to get up." He stroked her hair soothingly.

"Shit," she muttered against his chest, the puff of air hot on his skin. "I'd forgotten that." She sighed and moved her head so that her ear rested upon him, her forehead on his upper arm. "No, I don't think I'll get back to sleep."

Isidore nodded and kept running the flat of his hand over her red hair. "Then I'll stay awake too. In case you want to talk."

Martha pivoted her head up to look at him. "No, I don't think I'll want to talk. Isn't there something else we can do?" She tilted an eyebrow at him, not even a quirk of her lips otherwise revealing her intentions.

"You mean like get out the cards and play poker?" He raised his eyebrow at her in return, keeping the mirth from his face.

"Only if you mean strip poker." Martha's mouth started to twitch.

Both of Isidore's brows had lifted now. "I'm already down to my boxers, Martha. And you know you're better than I am. It'd be a short game."

"Then perhaps we should just forego the formality of playing a hand." She waggled her eyebrows. "And simply strip."

Isidore chuckled. "Incorrigible. That's what you are, Martha."

Martha withdrew one of her arms from beneath him and danced her fingertips along his side. "Yes. That's an astute observation." She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his chest. "Besides, you don't want me to have a bad dream filling my head during the train ride to London, do you, Issi?"

Drawing a deep breath and closing his eyes as Martha feathered increasingly lingering kisses over his chest, he answered, "No, I certainly wouldn't want that."

"Mmmm," she returned, her hands straying down to his waist and beneath his shorts to graze her fingers over his hips, not even pausing in her persistent kissing.

When her tongue lazily began circling one of his nipples, Isidore buried his hands in her hair, muttering, "Oh Jesus, Martha."

She flicked the tip of her tongue over the now taut peak and chuckled in the back of her throat to feel the hardening of his arousal against the front of her nightgown. Unexpectedly, Isidore felt her shift, pulling herself up and kissing his mouth hungrily, the fingers of one hand dragging over his side and arm. Pausing to help her lift her nightgown over her head, he initiated the next kiss, gliding his palms over her back and down her behind, pulling her up to lie atop him with a deep moan.

"What would you like?" she inquired, rubbing herself against him to make him moan again. She nipped at his earlobe playfully. "Shall we outperform Violet and Patrick with page 37?"

"Oh, hell yes, Martha," Isidore grunted, cupping her bottom and encouraging her to continue.

"It's my pleasure… and yours." Chuckling again, she trailed her hands down to rid them of their underthings and make the most of the rest of the time before she had to be ready to leave for London with her daughter.

* * *

At the blare of the alarm, Robert reached a hand behind him and slapped it, muttering a low "ugh" into the back of Cora's neck. They'd gone to sleep much later than they'd intended, and now Robert wanted nothing more than to tighten his arms around his naked wife, nuzzle his face further between her shoulder blades, and drift back to sleep with her.

But Cora's head turned toward him in the next moment, and her fingers brushed against his hands where they were clasped about her abdomen. "I'm sorry, darling. You sleep."

"Do you have to go?" he mumbled, his breath warm on the curve of her neck.

"Yes, Robert. I'm sorry. We can sleep in together tomorrow. I promise."

As she started to pull away from him, he gripped her harder, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder.

"Robert, please. I don't want to miss the train. It'll take longer if I do, and Rosamund and Marmaduke need us both there with them when they tell your parents their news."

Groaning with displeasure, he placed one more kiss upon her neck, then reluctantly loosened his arms. Cora pulled away, but rolled over to face him, stroking a hand over his cheek with a smile.

"Last night was –" She sighed and her grin widened. "Brilliant. I love you." Seeing him start to smile as well, albeit sleepily, she leaned toward him and gave him a brief kiss on the mouth, then brushed her lips lightly over each of his eyelids. "I'll wake you for a goodbye kiss before I leave."

Fluttering his lashes open again, he glided his fingers over her arm with a loving smile, and nodded. As she got out of bed, his eyes, heavy with sleep, closed once more.

Quickly and quietly, Cora went about washing and dressing, somewhat nervous, but grateful that she hadn't seemed to convey any of it to Robert. True to her word, she woke him for a kiss goodbye, reminding him that they'd be back around tea time. Robert held her head and kissed her earnestly, the taste of cinnamon toothpaste sweet on his tongue. Then he stroked her hair and, the memory of her faint clear in his mind, he said, "Be careful, sweetheart. I love you too."

Cora smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I will. Get some more sleep. If I'm lucky, Momma will leave me to sleep a little on the train." Caressing his cheek, she moved away and picked up her purse. "I'll see you this afternoon, my love."

Robert watched her leave, shutting the door quietly behind her. For a while he simply lay there, his hand gliding across the empty space beside him. Then, finally, he went back to sleep.

* * *

The day was mostly a lazy one for those who remained at Downton – apart from Violet, who busied herself checking behind Cora and getting things ready for their New Year's Eve celebration. Just because it would be only the family, didn't mean it shouldn't be perfect.

Of course, she did it all with a wide grin on her face, everyone cognizant of the perceptible change in her mood.

Patrick, too, spent the day in high spirits, walking into town with Robert and Isidore. Isidore simply chuckled to see his friend so happy.

Rosamund and Marmaduke wandered around the gardens a good portion of the day, Rosamund both dreading what was to come and, at the same time, wishing it would hurry up and happen so it would be finally done.

As teatime approached, Rosamund kept starting every time someone entered the library, hoping it was Martha and Cora returning. Although she and Marmaduke could probably tell her parents with only Isidore and Robert, she really wanted the two women there as well. Fortunately, they'd only all sat down with their cups when Martha and Cora rushed in, slightly out of breath.

"Oh, good – we aren't too late!" Cora exclaimed, brushing a kiss over her husband's cheek before bustling over to the tea trolley to pour a cup for herself and her mother. While she did, she exchanged a questioning look with Rosamund, relieved at her little shake of the head. They hadn't started yet.

Once Cora and Martha had settled down next to their husbands, Marmaduke took Rosamund's hand. At her nod, he sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly, and then turned to Violet and Patrick.

"Rosamund and I have something to tell you," he began. "And, please, if you could, let me get through all of it before you say anything?"

Violet looked at Patrick, her brow furrowed, and he reached for her hand at the serious tone of Marmaduke's voice. Inclining his head in assent, hearing a small noise of concern from Violet, Patrick held his breath and waited.

While Marmaduke told the pair everything – and even how the others already knew – Rosamund stared at the floor, listening to the words she already knew by heart, unwilling to see the expressions of disappointment and perhaps even anger that would be on her parents' faces. When he'd finished, a silence fell over the room, and he squeezed Rosamund's hand tightly.

Then the sound of a choked sob shuddered through the air. Raising her head, Rosamund saw that her mother had deposited her tea cup on the table beside her sometime during Marmaduke's story and clutched Patrick's hand in both her own. Tears had gathered in Violet's eyes, and her chest rose and fell unevenly, as if she stifled another sob.

"Mama?" Rosamund ventured tentatively, astonishment bowling her over. She'd certainly not expected this.

In answer, Violet merely got up and walked toward her daughter, tugged on her arm, and, once she'd risen from the settee, wrapped her in a close embrace. Again astounded by this reaction, Rosamund stood rigid in the circle of her mother's arms for a moment in shock. But when she felt moisture dotting her blouse and Violet's hand move up and cup the back of her head, Rosamund stretched her own arms around her mother's middle and rested her cheek on her shoulder. She heaved a deep sigh and allowed her own tears to fall.

The others remained still, watching the pair with hearts both full and sad. But mainly they – the ones who'd known – breathed a sigh of relief that they'd seemed to have underestimated Violet. And Patrick… well, he moved his eyes back and forth between Marmaduke and the two embracing in front of him, proud of his wife even as his heart broke for his daughter.

When Violet and Rosamund seemed to have exhausted their tears, simply leaning against one another with Violet's hand making gentle passes over Rosamund's back, Patrick stood and cleared his throat, then walked the few paces to them. He drew them both to him, wife and daughter, kissing them each upon the cheek as they opened their arms to him.

Patrick held them for a moment, pressing another kiss to Rosamund's forehead before saying, "It's a new year. Full of beautiful things to come, darling girl. You and Marmaduke will forge ahead. And we'll help you any way we can."

Raising wet eyes to his face, she smiled a little. "Thank you, Papa." Rosamund turned to Violet. "And Mama." She brought her hand to her mother's cheek and gently brushed her thumb over it, wiping at the tear tracks.

A small smile appeared upon Violet's lips, and she nodded slowly, still unable to speak.

"Well," Martha said, clapping her hands together, "the tea is cold, I think. And since this has been a rather emotionally wrenching past half hour, perhaps we should all go upstairs for a little rest before we have to dress for dinner and our evening? It's New Year's Eve, and I plan to celebrate." She grinned at everyone, with an especially warm glance to Rosamund and Marmaduke – and Violet. She really was proud of that broad.

Rosamund returned the smile and then turned to meet Marmaduke's fond gaze. "Yes. There are still things to celebrate."

* * *

Cora hadn't meant to doze off as soon as she fell upon the bed. But the day had been such a long one, and her eyes wouldn't stay open. Robert smiled and brushed his fingers over her cheek, then walked over to the adjoining room, his personal study, to do some work while she napped. He left the door open, looking up occasionally to glance at her face, peaceful in repose.

At the sound of the dressing gong, she jerked awake, blinking her eyes open in surprise. Giving a small yawn and stretching, she stood up and meandered into Robert's study, smiling to see him intent upon a book. His concentration wasn't broken until she touched his arm, and he grinned up at her as she walked around behind his chair, wrapping her arms loosely about his neck and pressing her cheek to his.

"Nice nap?" he asked, shutting his book.

"Yes. I needed that." She squeezed her arms a bit more tightly, turning her head to kiss his bristly cheek. "You didn't shave today," she observed as she nuzzled her nose against his face.

"No; I got up very late and decided it would be better if I shaved for tonight. Mama will want us to look nice." Robert put the book aside and put his hands on her arms, leaning his head toward her.

"We will both look very nice. If we start getting ready, that is." She chuckled.

"Oh no, no, no. Not just yet." Robert grasped one of her hands and pulled her around to his lap, his arms stealing about her waist. Looking up at her with a smirk, he said, "I've hardly seen you all day."

"I know, my darling. But there is celebrating to do."

Nipping at her throat with a low growl, he murmured, "I'd rather celebrate – privately – with you. Perhaps a little after midnight we can nick a bottle of champagne and bring it up here with us?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Threading her fingers through his hair, she laughed. "Only if you plan on drinking it all yourself."

"Now why would I do that?" he inquired with a laugh of his own.

Cora bit her lip and blushed, looking down.

Catching his, Robert sat up straighter, staring at her. "Cora?"

"I should probably not have much champagne at all tonight." She met his eyes. "I went to my doctor while in London today."

"Are you saying –?"

Cora nodded, a spectacular grin breaking out on her face. "A few weeks. I'm late – which, as you know, doesn't always mean anything – but after the fainting episode yesterday I called for an appointment…." She shook her head and touched his cheek. "I didn't want to tell you, in case I wasn't."

Robert seemed stunned. "But – but you are? We're going to –" At her emphatic nod, he began beaming. "We're going to have a baby," he whispered.

She nodded again, tears of happiness filling her eyes.

"But why didn't you say anything when you got home?" He tilted his head at her, still trying to wrap his mind around such news.

"Well, I knew this was going to be difficult enough for Rosamund and Marmaduke, and I wanted to get through that first, before I told you." Her expression turned sheepish. "Then I fell asleep."

"Don't apologize for that, sweetheart," he murmured, his visage soft. "We went to bed very late last night, and you've been to London and back, and –" his breath hitched at the thought still – "you're pregnant." He drew one of his arms from around her and placed his hand on her abdomen, unable to stop grinning.

"Yes," she said. She looked down, putting one of her hands atop his on her stomach. She took a deep breath. "Robert, I don't want to tell anyone else yet. Momma knows, and I'm sure she'll tell Daddy, but – " Cora raised her eyes to his, his face now reflecting her sober tone. "I don't want to say anything to Rosamund or Marmaduke this soon after finding out about their own difficulties." Since Robert didn't say anything, she went on, lowering her lashes again. "I'm only a few weeks along, and there's always a chance…. After hearing Rosamund –" She stopped, closing her eyes.

Robert leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. "I know, Cora. It frightens me too. But there's no reason to think that something will go wrong. We'll wait to tell the others, of course. But I hope it's alright if I'm happy."

Cora's head snapped up. "Oh, darling, I _am_ happy." She smiled at him. "I'm so happy it's quite ridiculous." She let out a light laugh. "But I can't help but be worried. I'm already very protective of our little one. So much so that I feel even more heartsick for Rosamund than I did before." Blinking back against tears, she rubbed her hand over Robert's.

He nodded in understanding. "Dear heart, we'll just take it a bit at a time, yes? Tonight though, even if no one else knows but the four of us, let's celebrate. Let's be ridiculously happy."

"Oh, Robert." Cora wrapped her arms about his neck. "I love you so very much."

Embracing her fully once more, he felt her sigh close to his ear. "And I love you more than I know how to say, my sweetheart. And I _am_ ridiculously happy already," he whispered.

* * *

And it _was_ indeed an evening of celebration.

If Cora drank only a few sips of champagne, she kept this as surreptitious as possible – her mother helping her by drinking from Cora's glass when no one else was looking, making her daughter laugh. Robert couldn't keep from grinning at his wife; although this was certainly not out of the ordinary and therefore aroused no suspicion. Not long after they'd gotten downstairs, Isidore pulled Cora aside, wringing her hand and kissing her cheek with a murmured, "Congratulations, princess." Blushing, she grinned at him, knowing his lips were sealed otherwise.

Patrick may have clung closer to his own little girl than usual, but he did his best to smile and put her at ease, longing to convey to her how his heart ached for their situation. Marmaduke spoke of their plans of a second honeymoon, and for a great chunk of the time before dinner the eight waxed enthusiastic about Paris, all of them having been at some time or another.

While Robert spoke animatedly about his and Cora's first time climbing the Eiffel Tower, Rosamund jumped at an unexpected tugging at her hand. Violet, having gotten her attention, beckoned her away from the group. They left the room together, Rosamund's hand still in her mother's, and enclosed themselves into the same sitting room Martha had locked herself and Violet into a few nights before.

"Mama?" Rosamund pulled her brows together, perplexed, as Violet shut the door behind them.

Violet inhaled deeply. "I owe you an apology, Rosamund."

The daughter pressed an open hand to her chest, staring.

"I didn't know what you'd been through, when I said those things, but that's no excuse. Sometimes I don't realize how cruel I can be," she said and looked down. "Will you forgive me?"

Rosamund let out a long sigh. "I don't think you know how much it means to me to hear you say that, Mama. And, yes, I forgive you."

Violet raised her eyes and smiled at her daughter, squeezing her hand. "Thank you, Rosamund." She touched her face, then tucked a lock of curly red hair behind her ear. "I know what it's like. At least, part of it. But I can't imagine going through it three times."

Blinking at Violet, Rosamund gaped again. "You did? When?"

"Several years before Robert – and you – came along," she whispered, smiling sadly. "A long time ago. The pain never quite goes away – the heartsickness of it – but it lessens, my dear girl. It gets easier, with time, and with people who love you."

Her daughter couldn't speak for the lump that rose up in her throat.

"I know I haven't been the most supportive of mothers, Rosamund, and I am sure that's why you didn't share any of this until now. But, believe it or not, I do love you, and you have all of my support – you and Marmaduke – now."

Rosamund nodded and closed her eyes against warm tears. When Violet pulled her into an embrace this time, the younger woman didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around her in return.

"We'll help you get through this, darling." Violet pressed a kiss to her daughter's hair, barely keeping back her own tears. "Mama's here," she whispered.

"I love you too, Mama," Rosamund eventually choked out.

Violet took a step back and wiped Rosamund's tears away with the tips of her fingers. "Now. As your papa said earlier, it's a new year – or it will be in a few hours – and we'll face it as a family."

"Because Crawleys stick together." Grinning, Rosamund dabbed at her eyes, hoping her makeup wasn't too smeared.

"Right." Violet shook her head and reached over to a nearby table for a tissue. "Let me." She cleaned up the bit of mascara at the corners of Rosamund's eyes, then touched her cheek, giving her another smile. "There. Time to celebrate."

* * *

At a quarter to midnight, Martha looked around the drawing room at the family gathered there. She watched Rosamund smirk at Marmaduke as his arm snaked around her waist and he poured her yet more champagne, heard her crisply call him "devil" and chuckle. She caught Violet's blush when Patrick walked up to her and, oh-so-smoothly, kissed her neck, evidently not caring who saw. His wife swatted his arm, but then clasped his hand, twining her fingers with his, and drew him closer to her, murmuring into his ear and grinning.

And, walking arm in arm with Isidore, Martha maneuvered themselves between those four and where Cora and Robert had ensconced themselves in a corner, blocking them from view. Robert drank from her glass, making eyes at her over its rim, then drank from his own. Cora brushed tender fingers over his clean-shaven face, causing him to smile widely.

"They look so happy, don't they, Iss?"

Isidore kissed her cheek. "They do, my dear. And they should be. They've waited a long time."

"I hope you're ready to come back around October. Although I suppose I could fly out myself…." Martha squeezed his arm, her eyes still trained on her daughter and Robert.

"And miss the birth of my first grandbaby? Not on your life, Martha Levinson." He chuckled. "We'll both be on that plane."

She turned her eyes to his face and smiled widely. "I'm happy to hear that. Because I don't relish the thought of sleeping in that guest room without you."

"Perish the thought, my love." Grinning at her, he unlinked his arm from hers and moved his hand down to pat her behind.

"Don't get fresh now. You'll traumatize our hosts," she said with mock horror.

Laughing, Isidore commented, "As if we haven't done that enough already." He bent his head and kissed her, never minding that it lacked several minutes to midnight.

In the corner, wrapped up in their own happiness, Cora and Robert gazed at one another. Robert kept reaching out to touch her still utterly flat abdomen and withdrawing his hand as he remembered where they were. He was dizzy – dizzy with champagne and happiness, giddy with love and gratitude. In a few moments, the others waved them over to stand in front of the mantel clock as generations of Crawleys had done before them.

The seconds ticked by, and at the stroke of midnight, Martha threw handfuls of confetti that no one knew she'd had (except Isidore, who chuckled). The couples kissed, and everyone embraced one another and drank a toast to the New Year. Even Cora had a sip in celebration.

Once the hullabaloo had died down – Rosamund plucking bits of confetti from her hair and then from others', laughing, having, like most of the group, gotten spectacularly drunk over the course of the evening – Robert steered Cora into the corner again, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her tenderly. Cora relaxed completely within his embrace, settling against him and beaming up into his face. She might not have been inebriated, but she was still intoxicated, elated.

"I love you, Robert. Happy New Year."

Robert bent his head down and kissed her again, his kiss tasting of champagne. Then he smiled down at her. "I love you too, Cora. And I think Papa was right; I can see a year of beautiful things to come."

* * *

_A/N: Seriously, everyone, thanks for the great response to this fic! The reviews and your comments, favorites, follows - I'm totally grateful. And I am happy at how it turned out - so happy, in fact, that a sequel will be on it's way at some point. I'm not sure when, but my brain is already hopping on it (like Martha on Isidore! Heh heh!)... Stay tuned!_


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